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II
SEBASTOPOL
BY
COUNT LEO TOLSTOI
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH
BY
FRANK D. MILLET
WITH INTRODUCTION BY \V. D. HOWELLS
WITH PORTRAIT
NEW YORK
HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE
1887
Copyright, 1887, by Harper & Brothers.
All rights rcserrca.
LEO TOLSTOI.
When I read in the excellent essay of
M. Ernest Dupuy that " Count Leo N.
Tolstoi was born on the 28th of August,
1828, at Yasnaya Polyana, a village near
Inla, in the government of Inla," I have a
sense of lunar remoteness in him. It is as
if these geographical expressions were de-
scriptive of localities in the ungazetteered
regions of the moon; and yet this far-fetched
Russian nobleman is precisely the human
being with whom at this moment I find my-
self in the greatest intimacy; not because
I know him, but because I know myself
through him ; because he has wa-itten more
faithfully of the life common to all men, the
universal life which is the most personal
life, than any other author whom I have
read. This merit the Russian novelists
6 Leo Tolstoi.
have each in some degree ; Tolstoi has it
in pre-eminent degree, and that is why the
reading of " Peace and War," " Anna Ka-
renina," "My Religion," "Childhood, Boy-
hood, and Youth," " Scenes at the Siege of
Sebastopol," " The Cossacks," " The Death
of Ivan Illitch," " Katia," and " Polikouch-
ka," forms an epoch for thoughtful people.
In these books you seem to come face to
face with human nature for the first time
in fiction. All other fiction at times seems
fiction ; these alone seem the very truth
always.
The facts of Tolstoi" s life, as one gathers
them from the essays of M. Dupuy and of
M. Melchoir de Vogue, are briefly that he
studied Oriental languages and the law at
the University of Kazan ; then entered the
army, served in the Crimean war, resigned
at its close ; gave himself up to society and
literature in St. Petersburg; and finally left
the capital for his estates, where he has
since lived the life of lowly usefulness which
he believes to be the true Christian life.
The man whose career was in camps, in
Leo Tolstoi. y
courts, and in salons, now makes shoes for
peasants, and humbly seeks to instruct them
and guide them by the little tales he writes
for them in the intervals of his great work
of newly translating the gospels. He mar-
ried the daughter of a German physician of
Moscow, and his wife and children share his
toils and ideals. Not much more is known
of the retirement of this very great man;
but I heard that an American traveller who
lately passed a day with him found him
steadfast in the conviction that withdrew
him from society — the conviction that Jesus
Christ came into the world to teach men
how to live in it, and that He meant liter-
ally what He said when He forbade us
luxury, war, litigation, unchastity, and hy-
pocrisy. His latest book, " Que Faire," is
a relentlessly searching statement of the
facts and reasons which forced this con-
viction upon him.
It is a sorrowful comment on our Chris-
tianity that this frank acceptance of Christ's
messao^e seems eccentric and even mad to
the world. But it is the " increasing pur-
S Leo Tolstoi.
pose " which runs through all Tolstoi's work
from first to last ; it is what makes him ijreat
above all others who have written fiction.
It does not much matter where you begin
with him ; you feel instantly that the man is
mighty, and mighty through his conscience ;
that he is not trying to surprise or dazzle
you with his art, but that he is trying to
make you think clearly and feel rightly
about vital things with which " art " has of-
ten dealt with diabolical indifference or dia-
bolical malevolence.
I do not know how it is with others to
whom these books of Tolstoi's have come,
but for my own part I cannot think of them
as literature in the artistic sense at all.
Some people complain to me, when I praise
them, that they are too long, too diffuse,
too confused, that the characters' names are
hard to pronounce, and that the life they
portray is very sad and not amusing. In
the presence of these criticisms I can only
say that I find them nothing of the kind,
but that each history of Tolstoi's is as clear,
as orderly, as brief, as something I have lived
Leo Tolstoi.
9
through myself; as for the names, they are
necessarily Russian. It is when some one
tells me they are " pessimistic " that I really
despair. I have always supposed pessimism
to be the doctrine of the prevalence of evil,
and these books perpetually teach me that
the good prevails, and always will prevail
whenever men put self aside, and strive sim-
ply and humbly to be good. We are all so
besotted with dreams and vanities that we
have come to think that the right will accom-
plish itself spectacularly, splendidly; but
Tolstoi' makes us know that it never can do
so. He teaches such of us as will hear him
that the Right is the sum of each man's poor
little personal effort to do right, and that the
success of this effort means daily, hourly
self-renunciation, self-abasement, the sinking
of one's pride in absolute squalor before
duty. This is not pleasant ; the heroic ideal
of righteousness is more picturesque, more
attractive ; but is this not the truth ? Let
any one try, and see ! I cannot think of
any service which imaginative literature has
done the race so 2:reat as that which Tolstoi'
10 Leo Tolstoi.
has done in his conception of Karenin at
that crucial moment when the cruelly out-
raged man sees that he cannot be good with
dignity. This leaves all tricks of fancy, all
effects of art, immeasurably behind.
In fact, Tolstoi' brings us back in his fic-
tion, as in his life, to the Christ ideal. " Ex-
cept ye become as little children " — that is
what he says in every part of his work ; and
this w^ork, so incomparably good aesthetical-
ly, to my thinking, is still greater ethically.
You will not find its lessons put at you, any
more than you will those of life. No little
traps are sprung for your surprise ; no cal-
cium light is thrown upon this climax or
that ; no virtue or vice is posed for you ;
but if you have ears to hear or eyes to see,
listen and look, and you will have the sense
of inexhaustible significance.
I happened to begin with " The Cossacks "
— that epic of nature, and of a young man's
sorrowful, wandering desire to get into har-
mony with the divine scheme of beneficence;
then I read "Anna Karenina " — that most
tragical history of loss and ruin to brilliancy
Leo Tolstoi. ii
and loveliness, out of which the good can
alone save itself ; then I came to " Peace and
War," that great assertion of the sufficiency
of common men in all crises, and the insuf-
ficiency of heroes ; I found some chapters
of the " Scenes at the Siege of Sebastopol,"
and I read them with a yet keener sense of
this truth; " Childhood, Boyhood, and Youth"
made me acquainted for the first time in lit-
erature with the real heart of the young of
our species ; " The Death of Ivan Illitch "
expressed the horror and the stress of mor-
tality, with its final bliss, and made it a part
of Nature as I never had realized it before ;
" Polikouchka," slight, broken, almost uncon-
cluded,was perfect and powerful and infinite
in its scope of mercy and sympathy.
I know very well that I do not speak of
these books in measured terms ; I cannot.
As yet my sense of obligation to them is so
great that I neither can make nor wish to
make a close accounting with their author,
and I am not disposed to exploit them for
the reader's entertainment. As often as I
have tried to do this their aesthetic interest
12 Leo Tolstoi.
has escaped me. I have been ashamed to
tag them with the tattered old adjectives of
praise, and I have found myself thinking of
them on their ethical side. But they exist
increasingly in English and in French, and
the best way, the only way, to get a due
sense of them is to read them.
W. D. HOWELLS.
/
SEBASTOPOL IN DECEMBER, 183^
SEB ASTOPOL.
SEBASTOPOL IN DECEMBER, 1854.
Dawn tinges the horizon above Mount
Sapoune; the shadows of the night have left
the surface of the sea, which, now dark blue
in color, only awaits the first ray of sunshine
to sparkle merrily ; a cold wind blows from
the fog-enveloped bay ; there is no snow on
the ground, the earth is black, but frost
stinors the face and cracks underfoot. The
quiet of the morning is disturbed only by
the incessant murmuring of the waves, and
is broken at long intervals by the dull roar
of cannon. All is silent on the men-of-war ;
the hour-glass has just marked the eighth
hour. Towards the north the activity of
day replaces little by little the tranquillity
of night. On this side a detachment of sol-
diers is going to relieve the guard, and the
click of their guns can be heard ; a surgeon
i6 Sebastopol,
hurries towards his hospital; a soldier crawls
out of kis hut, washes his sunburned face
with icy water, turns towards the east, and
repeats a prayer, making rapid signs of the
cross. On that side an enormous, heavy
cart with creaking wheels reaches the cem-
etery where they are going to bury the
corpses heaped almost to the top of the vehi-
cle. Approach the harbor and you are disa-
greeably surprised by a mixture of odors; you
smell coal, manure, moisture, meat. There
are thousands of different objects : wood,
flour, gabions, beef, thrown in heaps here
and there; soldiers of different regiments,
some provided with guns and with bags,
others with neither guns nor bags, crowd
together ; they smoke, they quarrel, and they
bear loads upon the steamer stationed near
the plank bridge and ready to sail. Small
private boats, filled with all sorts of people
— soldiers, sailors, merchants, and women —
are constantly arriving and departing. " This
way for Grafskaya !" and two or three re-
tired sailors rise in their boats and offer you
their services. You choose the nearest one,
stride over the half-decomposed body of a
black horse lying in the mud two steps from
December^ 18^4. ly
the boat, and seat yourself near the helm.
You push off from the shore ; all around
you the sea sparkles in the morning sun ; in
front of you an old sailor in an overcoat of
camel's-hair cloth and a lad with blond hair
are diligently rowing. You turn your eyes
upon the gigantic ships with scratched hulls
scattered over the harbor, upon the shallops,
— black dots on the sparkling azure of the
water — upon the pretty houses of the town,
to whose light-colored tones the rising sun
gives a rosy tinge, upon the hostile fleet
standing like light-houses in the crystalline
distance of the sea, and, at last, upon the
foaming waves, where play the salt drops
which the oars dash into the air. You
hear at the same time the regular sound of
voices which comes over the water, and the
grand roar of the cannonade at Sebastopol,
which seems to increase in strength as you
listen.
At the thought that you, you also, are in
Sebastopol, your whole soul is filled with a
sentiment of pride and of valor, and your
blood runs quicker in your veins.
" Straight towards the Constantine, your
excellency," says the old sailor, turning
2
1 8 _ Sebastopol.
around to the direction you are giving to
the helm.
" Look ! she has still got all her cannons,"
remarks the lad with the blond hair as the
boat glides along the side of the ship.
" She is quite new, she ought to have
them. Korniloff lives on board," repeats
the old man, examining in his turn the man-
of-war.
" There ! it has burst !" cries the lad, after
a long silence, his eyes fixed upon a small
white cloud of drifting smoke suddenly ap-
pearing in the sky above the south bay, and
accompanied by the strident noise of a shell
explosion.
" They are firing from the new battery to-
day," adds the sailor, calmly spitting in his
hand. " Come along, Nichka ; pull away.
Let's pass the shallop."
And the small boat moves rapidly over
the undulating surface of the bay, leaves the
heavy shallop behind laden with bags and
with soldiers, unskilful rowers who are pull-
ing awkwardly, and at last lands in the mid-
dle of a great number of boats moored to
the shore in the harbor of Grafskaya. A
crowd of soldiers in gray overcoats, sailors
December, 18^4. ig
in black jackets, and women in motley gowns
comes and goes on the quay. Some peas-
ants are selling bread ; others, seated beside
their samovars, offer to customers warm
drink.
Here, on the upper steps of the landing,
are strewn about, pell-mell, rusty shot, shell,
canister, cast-iron cannon of different cali-
bres ; there, farther away, in a great open
square, are lying enormous joists, gun-car-
riages, sleeping soldiers. On one side are
wagons, horses, cannon, artillery caissons,
stacks of muskets ; farther on, soldiers, sail-
ors, officers, women, and children are mov-
ing about ; carts full of bread, bags, and bar-
rels, a Cossack on horseback, a general in his
droschky, are crossing the square. A bar-
ricade looms up in the street to the right,
and in its embrasures are small cannon, be-
side which a sailor is sitting quietly smok-
ing his pipe. On the left stands a pretty
house, on the pediment of which are scrawl-
ed numerals, and above can be seen soldiers
and blood-stained stretchers. The dismal
traces of a camp in war-time meet the eye
everywhere. Your first impression is, doubt-
less, a disagreeable one ; the strange amal-
20 Sebastopol.
gamation of town life with camp life, of an
elegant city and a dirt}^ bivouac, strikes you
like a hideous incongruity. It seems to you
that all, overcome by terror, are acting vac-
uously; but if you examine the faces of those
men who are moving about you, you will
think differently. Look well at this soldier
of the wagon-train who is leading his bay
troitka horses to drink, humming through
his teeth, and you shall find that he does not
go astray in this confused crowd, which in
fact does not exist for him, for he is full of
his own business, and will do his duty, what-
ever it is — will lead his horses to the water-
ing-place or drag a cannon with as much
calm and assured indifference as if he were
at Toula or at Saransk. You notice the
same expression on the face of this officer,
with his irreproachable white gloves, who is
passing before you, of that sailor who sits on
the barricade smoking, of the soldiers who
wait with their stretchers at the door of
what was lately the Assembly Hall, even
upon the face of the young girl who crosses
the street, leaping from stone to stone for
fear of soiling her pink dress. Yes, a great
deception awaits you on your arrival at Se-
December, 18^4. 21
bastopol. In vain you seek to discover upon
any face traces of agitation, fright, indeed
even enthusiasm, resignation to death, reso-
lution; there is nothing of all that. You
see the course of every - day life ; see peo-
ple occupied with their daily toils, so that,
in fact, you blame yourself for your exag-
gerated exaltation, and doubt not only the
truth of the opinion you have formed from
hearsay about the heroism of the defenders
of Sebastopol, but also doubt the accuracy
of the description which has been given you
on the north side and the sinister sounds
which fill the air there. Before doubting,
however, go up to a bastion, see the defend-
ers of Sebastopol on the very place of the
defence, or rather enter straight into this
house at whose door stand the stretcher-
bearers. You will see there the heroes of
the army, you will see there horrible and
heart-rending sights, both sublime and com-
ic, but wonderful and of a soul-elevatinor nat-
ure. Enter this great hall, which before the
war was the hall of the Assembly. Scarce-
ly have you opened the door before the
odor exhaled from forty or fifty amputations
and severe wounds turns you sick. You
22 Sebastopol.
must not yield to the feeling which keeps
you on the threshold of the room, it is an
unworthy feeling; go boldly in, and not
blush at having come to look at these mar-
tyrs. You may approach and speak with
them. The wretches like to see a pitying
face, to relate their sufferings, and to hear
words of charity and sympathy. Passing
down the middle between the beds, you look
for the face which is the least rigid, the least
contracted by pain, and on finding it decide
to go near and put a question.
" Where are you wounded V you hesitat-
ingly ask an old, emaciated soldier, seated
on his bed, watching you with a kindly look,
and apparently inviting you to approach.
You have, I say, put this question hesitating-
ly, because the sight of the sufferer inspires
not only a lively pity, but also a sort of
dread of hurting his feelings, joined with a
profound respect.
"On the foot," replies the soldier; and
nevertheless you notice by the folds of the
blanket that his leg has been cut off above
the knee.
"God be praised!" he adds, "I shall be
discharged."
December, 18^4. 2j
" Were you wounded long since ?"
" It is the sixth week, your excellency."
" Where do you feel badly now ?"
" Nowhere only in my calf when it is bad
weather ; nothing but that."
" How did it happen ?"
" On the fifth bastion, your excellency, in
the first bombardment. I had just sighted
the cannon, and was going quietly to the
other embrasure, when suddenly something
struck my foot. I thought I had fallen into
a hole. I looked — my leg was gone !"
" You didn't have any pain at first, then ,?"
" None at all, only just as if I had scald-
ed my leg ; that's all."
" And afterwards ?"
" None afterwards, only when they stretch-
ed the skin ; that was a little rough. First
of all things, your excellency, we mustn't
think. When we don't think we don't feel.
When a man thinks, it is the worse for
im.
Meanwhile, a woman dressed in gray, with
a black kerchief tied around her head, ap-
proaches, joins in the conversation, and be-
gins to give a detailed account of the sailor :
how he has suffered, how his life was de-
2^ Sebastopol.
spaired of for four weeks, how, when wound-
ed, he made them stop the stretcher on which
he was being carried to the rear in order to
watch the discharge of our battery, and how
the grand-dukes had spoken with him, had
given him twenty -five rubles, and how he
had rephed that, not being able to serve any
more himself, he would like to come back to
the bastion to train the conscripts. The
good woman, her eyes sparkling with en-
thusiasm, relates this in one breath, looking
at you and then at the sailor, who turns
away and pretends not to hear, busy with
picking lint from his pillow.
" It is my wife, your excellency," says the
sailor at last, with an intonation of voice
which seems to say, " You must excuse her;
all that is woman's foolish prattle, you
know."
You then begin to understand what the
defenders of Sebastopol are, and you are
ashamed of yourself in the presence of this
man. You would have liked to express all
your admiration for him, all your sympathy,
but the words will not come, or those which
do come are worthless, and you can only
bow in silence before this unconscious gran-
December, 18^4. 2^
deur, before this firmness of soul and this
exquisite shame of his own merit.
"Ah, well, may God speedily cure you!"
you say, and you stop before another wound-
ed man lying on the floor, who, suffering
horrible pain, seems to be awaiting his death.
He is blond, and his pale face is much swol-
len. Stretched on his back, his left hand
thrown up, his position indicates acute
suffering. His hissing breath escapes with
difficulty from his dry, half- open mouth.
The glassy blue pupils of his eyes are rolled
up under the eyelids, and a mutilated arm,
wrapped in bandages, sticks out from under
the tumbled blanket. A nauseating, corpse-
like odor rises to your nostrils, and the fever
which burns the sufferer's limbs seems to
penetrate your own body.
" Is he unconscious T' you ask of the
woman who kindly accompanies you, and
to whom you are no longer a stranger.
" No ; he can still hear, but he is very
bad ;" and she adds, under her breath, " I
have just made him drink a little tea. He
is nothing to me, only I have pity on him ;
indeed, he has only been able to swallow a
few mouthfuls."
26 Sebastopol.
" How do you feel ?" you ask him.
At the sound of your voice the wounded
man's eyes turn towards you, but he neither
sees nor understands.
" That burns my heart !" he murmurs.
A little farther on an old soldier is chang-
ing his clothes. His face and his body are
both of the same brown color, and as thin
as a skeleton. One of his arms has been
amputated at the shoulder. He is seated
on his bed, he is out of danger, but from
his dull, lifeless look, from his frightful thin-
ness, from his wrinkled face, you see that
this creature has already passed the greater
part of his existence in suffering.
On the opposite bed you see the pale, del-
icate, pain-shrivelled face of a woman whose
cheeks are flushed with fever.
" It is a sailor's wife. A shell hit her on
the foot while she was carrying dinner to
her husband in the bastion," says the guide.
" Has it been amputated ?"
" Above the knee."
Now, if your nerves are strong, enter there
at the left. It is the operating-room. There
you see surgeons with pale and serious coun-
tenances, their arms blood - splashed to the
December, 18^4. 2"/
elbows, beside the bed of a wounded man,
who, stretched on his back with open eyes,
is delirious under the influence of chloro-
form, and utters broken phrases, some un-
important, some touching. The surgeons
are busy with their repulsive but beneficent
task, amputation. You see the curved and
keen blade penetrate the healthy white flesh.
The wounded man suddenly comes to him-
self with heart-rending cries, with curses.
The assistant surgeon throws the arm into
a corner, while another wounded man on a
stretcher who sees the operation turns and
groans, more on account of the mental tort-
ure of expectation than from the physical
pain he feels. You will witness these horrible,
heart-rending scenes ; you will see war with-
out the brilliant and accurate alignment of
troops, without music, without the drum-roll,
without standards flying in the wind, with-
out galloping generals — you will see it as it
is, in blood, in suffering, and in death ! Leav-
ing this house of pain, you will experience a
certain impression of well-being, you will
take long breaths of fresh air, and will be
glad to feel yourself in good health ; but at
the same time the contemplation of these
28 Sebastoj)ol.
misfortunes will have convinced you of your
own insignificance, and you will go up into
a bastion without hesitation. What are the
sufferings and the death of an atom like me,
you will ask yourself, in comparison with
these innumerable suffering's and deaths ?
Besides, in a short tmie the sight of the pure
sky, of the bright sun, of the pretty city, of
the open church, of the soldiers coming and
going in all directions, raises your spirits to
their normal state. Habitual indifference,
preoccupation with the present and with its
petty interests, resume the ascendant. Per-
haps you will meet on your way the funeral
corteore of an officer — a red coffin followed
by a band and by unfurled standards — and
perhaps the roar of the cannonade on the
bastion will strike your ear, but your thoughts
of a few moments before will not come back
again. The funeral will only be a pretty
picture for you, the growl of the cannon a
grand military accompaniment, and there
will be nothing in common between this
picture, these sounds, and the clear, person-
al impression of suffering and death called
up by the sight of the operating-room.
Pass the church, the barricade, and you
December, 18^4, 2g
enter the most animated, the HveUest quar-
ter of the city. On both sides of the street
are shop signs, eating-house signs. Here
are merchants, women with men's hats or
with handkerchiefs on their heads, officers
in elegant uniforms. Everything testifies to
the courage, the assurance, the safety of the
inhabitants.
Enter this restaurant on the right. If
you want to Hsten to the sailors' and the
officers' talk, you will hear them relate the
incidents of the night before, of the affair
of the 24th; hear them grumble at the high
price of the badly cooked cutlets, and men-
tion the comrade recently killed.
" Devil take me ! we are badly off where
we are now," says the bass voice of a pale,
blond, beardless, newly appointed officer, his
neck wTapped in a green knit scarf.
" Where is that T some one asks.
" In the fourth bastion," replies the young
officer; and at this reply you attentively
look at him, and feel a certain respect for
him. His exasf aerated carelessness, his vio-
lent gestures, his too loud laughter, which
would shortly before have seemed to you
impudent, become in your eyes the index of
JO Sebastopol.
a certain kind of combative spirit common
to all young people who are exposed to
great danger, and you are sure he is going
to explain that it is on account of the shells
and the bullets that they are so badly off in
the fourth bastion. Nothing of the kind !
They are badly off there because the mud
is deep.
" Impossible to get up to the battery," he
says, pointing to his boots, muddied even to
the upper-leathers.
" My best gun captain was instantly killed
to-day by a ball in his forehead," rejoins a
comrade.
" Who was it .? Mituchine .?"
" No, another man. — Look here ! are you
never going to bring me my chop, you vil-
lain T says he, speaking to the waiter. — " It
was Abrossinoff, as brave a man as lived.
He took part in six sorties."
At the other end of the table two infan-
try officers are eating veal cutlets with green
pease washed down by sour Crimean wine,
by courtesy called Bordeaux. One of them,
a young man with red collar and two stars
on his coat, is telling to his neighbor with
a black collar and no stars the details of the
December, iS^^. ji
fight on the Alma. The first is a little the
worse for liquor. His frequently interrupt-
ed tale, his uncertain look, which reflects the
lack of confidence which his story inspires
in his auditor, the fine part he gives himself,
the too high color of his picture, lead you
to guess that he is wandering away from
the absolute truth. But you haven't any-
thing to do with these tales, which you will
hear for a long time yet in the farthest cor-
ners of Russia; you have one wish alone,
that is, to go straight to the fourth bastion,
which you have heard so many and so va-
ried reports about. You will notice that
whoever tells you he has been there says it
with pride and satisfaction ; that w^hoever is
getting ready to go there either shows a lit-
tle emotion or affects an exaggerated sa7tg-
froid. If one man is joking with another,
he will invariably tell him, "Go to the fourth
bastion !" If a wounded man on a stretcher
is met, and he is asked where he comes from,
he will answer, almost without fail, " From
the fourth bastion !" Two completely dif-
ferent notions of this terrible earthwork have
been circulated; the first by those who have
never put their foot upon it, and for whom
J2 Sebastopol.
it is the inevitable tomb of its defenders, the
second by those who, like the little blond
officer, liv^e there and simply speak of it, say-
ing it is dry or muddy there, warm or cold.
During the half hour you have been in the
restaurant the weather has changed and the
fog which spread over the sea has risen.
Thick, gray, moist clouds hide the sun.
The sky is gloomy, and a fine rain mixed
with snow is falling, wetting the roofs, the
sidewalks, and the soldiers' overcoats. After
passing one more barricade you go along up
the broad street. There are no more shop-
signs ; the houses are uninhabitable, the
doors fastened up with boards, the windows
broken. On this side the corner of a wall
has been carried away, on that side the roof
has been broken in. The buildings look
like old veterans tried by grief and mis-
ery, and stare at you with pride, one might
say with disdain even. On the way you
stumble over cannon-balls and into holes,
filled with water, which the shells have made
in the rocky ground. You pass detach-
ments of soldiers and officers. You occa-
sionally meet a woman or a child, but here
the woman does not wear a hat. As for the
December, i8^^. jj
sailor's wife, she wears an old fur cloak, and
has soldiers' boots on her feet. The street
now leads down a gentle declivity, but there
are no more houses around you, nothing
but shapeless masses of stones, of boards, of
beams, and of clay. Before you, on a steep
hill, stretches a black space, all muddy, and
cut up with ditches. What you are look-
ing at is the fourth bastion.
Passers become rare, no more women are
met. The soldiers walk with rapid step.
A few drops of blood stain the path, and you
see coming towards you four soldiers bear-
ing a stretcher, and on the stretcher a face
of a sallow paleness and a bloody coat. If
you ask the bearers where he is wounded,
they will reply, with an irritated tone, with-
out looking at you, that he has been hit on
the arm or on the leg. If his head has
been carried away, if he is dead, they will
keep a morose silence.
The near whiz of balls and shells Gfives
you a disagreeable impression while you are
climbing the hill, and suddenly you have an
entirely different idea from the one you re-
cently had of the meaning of the cannon-
shots heard in the city. I do not know
3
J 4 Sebasiopol.
what placid and sweet souvenir will sudden-
ly shine out in your memory. Your intimate
ego will occupy you so actively that you will
no longer think of noticing your surround-
ings. You will permit yourself to be over-
come by a painful feeling of irresolution.
However, the sight of a soldier who, with
extended arms, is slipping down the hill in
the liquid mud, and passes near you, running
and laughing, silences your small inward
voice, the cowardly counsellor which arises
in you in the presence of danger. You
straighten up in spite of yourself, you raise
your head, and you, in your turn, scale the
slippery slope of the clay hill. You have
scarcely gone a step before musket -balls
hum in your ears, and you ask yourself if it
would not be preferable to go under cover
of the trench thrown up parallel with the
path. But the trench is full of a yellow,
fetid, liquid mud, so that you are obliged to
go on in the path ; all the more since it is
the way everybody goes. At the end of
two hundred paces you come out on a place
surrounded by gabions, embankments, shel-
ters, platforms supporting enormous cast-
iron cannon, and heaps of symmetrically
December, 18^4. j>5
piled cannon-balls. These heaps of things
give you the impression of a strange and
aimless disorder. Here on the battery as-
sembles a group of sailors ; there in the
middle of the enclosure lies a dismount-
ed cannon, half buried in the sticky mud,
through which an infantryman, musket in
hand, is going to the battery, pulling out
with difficulty first one foot and then the
other. Everywhere in this liquid mud
you see broken glass, unexploded shells,
cannon-balls — every trace of camp life.
You seem to hear the noise of a cannon-
ball falling only two yards away, and from
all sides come the sound of balls, which
sometimes hum like bees, sometimes groan
and split the air, which vibrates like a violin-
string, the whole dominated by the sinister
rumbling of cannon, which shakes you from
head to foot and fills you with terror.
This is, then, the fourth bastion, this real-
ly terrible place, you say to yourself, feeling
a little pride and a great deal of repressed
fear. Not at all ! You are the sport of an
illusion. This is not yet the fourth bastion ;
it is the Jason redoubt, a place which, com-
paratively, is neither dangerous nor fright-
j6 Scbasiopol.
ful. In order to reach the fourth bastion
you enter the narrow trench which the in-
fantryman follows, stooping over. You will
perhaps see more stretchers, sailors, soldiers
with spades, wires leading to the mines,
earth -shelters equally muddy, into which
only two men can crawl, and where the bat-
talions of the Black Sea Sharpshooters live,
eat, smoke, and put their boots on and off,
in the midst of the debris of cast-iron of ev-
ery form thrown here and there. You will
perhaps find here four or five sailors playing
cards in the shelter of the parapet, and a
naval officer, who, seeing a new face come
up, and a spectator at that, will be really
pleased to initiate you into the details of the
arrangements and give you an explanation
of them. This officer, seated on a cannon,
is rolling a cigarette with such coolness,
passes so quietly from one embrasure to an-
other, and talks with you with such natural
calmness, that you recover your own sang-
froid^ in spite of the balls which are whist-
ling here in greater numbers. You ask him
questions, and even listen to his tales. The
sailor will describe to you, if you will only
ask him, the bombardment of the 5th, the
Decefuber, 18^4. jy
state of his battery with a single serviceable
cannon, his men reduced to eight, and, more-
over, on the morning of the 6th, the battery-
fired with every gun. He will tell you also
how, on the 5th, a shell penetrated a bomb-
proof and struck down eleven sailors. He
will show you, through the embrasure, the
enemy's trenches and batteries, which are
only thirty or forty fathoms distant. I fear,
however, that, leaning out of the embrasure
in order to examine the enemy better, you
will see nothing, or that, if you perceive
something, you will be very much surprised
to learn that this white and rocky rampart
a few steps away, and from which are spout-
ing little clouds of smoke, is really the en-
emy— "///;;2," as the soldiers and sailors
say.
It is very possible that the ofHcer, either
through vanity or simply, without reflection,
to amuse himself, will be willing to have
them fire for you. At his order the captain
of the gun and the men, fourteen sailors all
told, gayly approach the cannon to load it,
some chewing biscuit, others cramming their
short pipes in their pockets, while their hob-
nailed shoes clatter on the platform. No-
^8 Sebastopol,
tice the faces of these men, their bearing,
their movements, and you will recognize in
each of the wrinkles of their sunburned faces
with high cheek-bones, in each muscle, in
the breadth of the shoulders, in the thick-
ness of the feet shod with colossal boots, in
each calm and bold gesture, the principal
elements that make up the strength of Rus-
sia— simplicity and obstinacy. You will
also see that danger, misery, and suffering
in the war will have imprinted on these
faces the consciousness of their dignity, of
high thoughts, of a sentiment.
Suddenly a deafening noise makes you
quake from head to foot. You hear at the
same instant the shot whistling away, while
a thick powder-smoke envelops the platform
and the black figures of sailors moving
about. Listen to their conversation, notice
their animation, and you w411 discover among
them a feeling which you would not expect
to meet — that of hatred of the enemy, of
vencreance. " It fell straisrht into the em-
brasure ; two killed. Look ! they are car-
rying them away," and they shout for joy.
" But he is getting angry now, he is going
to hit back," says a voice, and in truth you
December^ 18^4. jg
see at the same instant a flash and spurting
smoke, and the sentinel on the parapet calls,
" Cannon !" A ball whizzes in your ears
and buries itself in the ground, digging it
up and casting around a shower of earth
and stones. The commander of the battery
gets angry, renews the order to load a sec-
ond, a third gun. The enemy replies, and
you experience interesting sensations. The
sentinel again calls, " Cannon !" and the same
sound, the same blow, and the same throw-
ing up of earth are repeated. If, on the
other hand, he cries, " Mortar !'' you will be
struck by a regular, not disagreeable hiss-
ing, which has no connection in your mind
with anything terrible. It comes nearer and
with greater rapidity. You see the black
ball fall to the ground, and the bomb-shell
burst with a metallic cracking. The pieces
fly in air, w^iistling and screeching ; stones
hit each other, and mud splashes over you.
You feel a strange mixture of pleasure and
fright at these different sounds. At the
instant the projectile reaches you, you in-
variably think it will kill you. But pride
keeps you up, and no one notices the dag-
ger that is digging into your heart. So
40 SebastopoL
when it has passed without grazing you,
you live again ; for an instant a feeling of
indescribable sweetness possesses you to
such a degree that you find a special charm
in danger, in the game of life and death.
You would like to have a ball or a shell fall
nearer, very near you. But the sentinel an-
nounces with his strong, full voice, '* Mor-
tar!" The hissing, the blow, the explosion
are repeated, but accompanied this time by
a human groan. You go up to the wound-
ed man at the same time with the stretcher-
bearers. He has a strange look, lying in
the mud mingled with his blood. Part of
his chest has been carried away. In the
first moment his mud-splashed face express-
es only fright and the premature sensation
of pain, a feeling familiar to man in this sit-
uation. But when thev brin^ the stretcher
to him, and he unassisted lies down on it on
his uninjured side, an exalted expression,
elevated but restrained thoughts, enliven his
features. With brilliant eyes and shut teeth
he raises his head with an effort, and at the
moment the stretcher-bearers move he stops
them, and addressing his comrades with
trembling voice, says, " Good-by, brothers !"
December^ i8^^. ^i
He would like to say something more, he
seems to be trying to find something touch-
ing to say, but he limits himself to repeat-
ing, " Good-by, brothers !" A comrade ap-
proaches the wounded man, puts his cap on
his head for him, and turns back to his can-
non with a gesture of perfect indifference.
At the sight of your terrified expression of
face the officer, yawning, and rolling between
his fingers a cigarette in yellow paper, says,
" So it is every day, up to seven or eight
men."
You have just seen the defenders of Se-
bastopol on the very place of the defence,
and, strange to say, you will retrace your
steps without paying the least attention to
the bullets and balls which continue to whis-
tle the whole length of the road as far as
the ruins of the theatre. You walk with
calmness, your soul elevated and strength-
ened, for you bring away the consoling con-
viction that never, and in no place, can the
strength of the Russian people be broken ;
and you have gained this conviction not
from the solidity of the parapets, from the in-
geniously combined intrenchments,from the
number of mines, from the cannon heaped
42 SebastopoL
one on the other, and all of which you
have not in the least understood, but from
the eyes, the words, the bearing, from what
may be called the spirit of the defenders of
Sebastopol.
There is so much simplicity and so little
effort in what they do that you are per-
suaded that they could, if it were necessary,
do a hundred times more, that they could
do everything. You judge that the senti-
ment that impels them is not the one you
have experienced, mean and vain, but anoth-
er and more powerful one, which has made
men of them, living tranquilly in the mud,
working and watching among the bullets,
with a hundred chances to one of beino:
killed, contrary to the common lot of their
kind. It is not for a cross, for rank ; it is
not that they are threatened into submit-
ting to such terrible conditions of existence.
There must be another, a higher motive
power. This motive power is found in a
sentiment which rarely shows itself, which
is concealed with modesty, but which is deep-
ly rooted in every Russian heart — patriot-
ism. It is now only that the tales that cir-
culated during the first period of the siege
December, 18^4. 4 J
of Sebastopol, when there were neither
fortifications, nor troops, nor material pos-
sibility of holding out there, and when,
moreover, no one admitted the thought of
surrender — it is now only that the anecdote
of Korniloff, that hero worthy of antique
Greece, who said to his troops, " Children,
we will die, but we will not surrender Se-
bastopol," and the reply of our brave sol-
diers, incapable of using set speeches, " We
will die, hurrah !" — it is now only that these
stories have ceased to be to you beautiful
historical legends, since they have become
truth, facts. You will easily picture to your-
self, in the place of those you have just seen,
the heroes of this period of trial, who never
lost courage, and who joyfully prepared to
die, not for the defence of the city, but for
the defence of the country. Russia will long
preserve the sublime traces of the epoch of
Sebastopol, of which the Russian people
were the heroes !
Day closes ; the sun, disappearing at the
horizon, shines through the gray clouds
which surround it, and lights up with pur-
ple rays the rippling sea with its green re-
flections, covered with ships and boats, the
44 Sebastopol.
white houses of the city, and the population
stirring there. On the boulevard a regi-
mental band is playing an old waltz, which
sounds far over the water, and to which the
cannonade of the bastions forms a strange
and striking accompaniment.
SEBASTOPOL IN MA V, 1833
SEBASTOPOL IN MA V, 1855.
Six months had rolled by since the first
bomb-shell thrown from the bastions of Se-
bastopol ploughed up the soil and cast it
upon the enemy's works. Since that time
millions of bombs, bullets, and balls had
never ceased flying from bastions to trench-
es, from trenches to bastions, and the angel
of death had constantly hovered over them.
The self-love of thousands of human be-
ings had been sometimes wounded, some-
times satisfied, sometimes soothed in the
embrace of death ! What numbers of red
coffins with coarse palls! — and the bastions
still continued to roar. The French in their
camp, moved by an involuntary feeling of
anxiety and terror, examined in the soft even-
ing light the yellow and burrowed earth of
the bastions of Sebastopol, where the black
silhouettes of our sailors came and went; they
counted the embrasures bristling with fierce-
looking cannon. On the telegraph tower an
4^ Sebastopol.
under-officer was watchino: throusfh his field-
glass the enemy's soldiers, their batteries,
their tents, the movements of their troops
on the Mamelon-Vert, and the smoke ascend-
ing from the trenches. A crowd composed
of heterogeneous races, moved by quite dif-
ferent desires, converged from all parts of
the world towards this fatal spot. Powder
and blood had not succeeded in solvinor the
question which diplomats could not settle.
A regimental band was playing in the be-
sieged city of Sebastopol; a crowd of sol-
diers and women in Sunday best was prom-
enading in the avenues. The clear sun of
spring had risen upon the English works,
had passed over the fortifications, over the
city, and over the Nicholas barracks, shed-
ding everywhere its just and joyous light;
now it was setting into the blue distance of
the sea, which gently rippled, sparkling with
silvery reflections.
An infantry officer of tall stature and
with a slight stoop, busy putting on gloves
of doubtful whiteness, though still presenta-
ble, came out of one of the small sailor-
May, iSs5' 49
houses built on the left side of Marine
Street. He directed his steps towards the
boulevard, fixing his eyes in a distracted
manner on the toe of his boots. The ex-
pression of his ill-favored face did not de-
note a high intellectual capacity, but traits
of good-fellowship, good sense, honesty, and
love of order were to be plainly recognized
there. He was not well-built, and seemed
to feel some confusion at the awkwardness
of his own motions. He had a well-worn
cap on his head, and on his shoulders a light
cloak of a curious purplish color, under
which could be seen his watch-chain, his
trousers with straps, and his clean and well-
polished boots. If his features had not
clearly indicated his pure Russian origin
he would have been taken for a German,
for an aide-de-camp, or for a regimental bag-
gage-master— he wore no spurs, to be sure —
or for one of those cavalry officers who have
been exchanged in order to take active serv-
ice. In fact, he was one of the latter, and
while going up to the boulevard he was
thinking of a letter he had just received
from an ex-comrade, now a landholder in
the Government of F ; he was thinking
4
50 Sebastopol.
of his comrade's wife, pale, blue-eyed Nata-
cha, his best friend; he was especially re-
calling the following passage :
" When they bring us the Invalide*
Poupka (that was the name the retired
uhlan gave his wife) rushes into the ante-
chamber, seizes the paper, and throws her-
self upon the sofa in the arbor f in the par-
lor, where we have passed so many pleasant
winter evenings in your company while
your regiment was in garrison in our city.
You can't imagine the enthusiasm with
which she reads the story of your heroic
exploits! ' Mikhailoff,' she often says in
speaking of you, ' is a pearl of a man, and I
shall throw myself on his neck when I see
him again ! He is fighting in the bastions, he
is! He will get the cross of St. George,
and the newspapers will be full of him.' In-
deed, I am beginning to be jealous of you.
It takes the papers a very long time to get
to us, and although a thousand bits of news
fiy from mouth to mouth, we can't believe
all of them. For example: your good
* The Military Gazette.— Trans.
t A sort of arbor covered with ivy was then used in
most fashionable parlors. — Trans.
May, iSsS' 5^
friends the musical girls related yesterday
how Napoleon, taken prisoner by our cos-
sacks, had been brought to Petersburg — you
understand that I couldn't believe that!
Then one of the officials of the war office, a
fine fellow, and a great addition to society
now our little town is deserted, assured us
that our troops had occupied Eupatoria,
thtis preventing the French from comimmica-
ting with Balaklava; that we lost two hun-
dred men in this business, and they about
fifteen thousand. My wife was so much
deli o-h ted at this that she celebrated it all
night long, and she has a feeling that you
took part in the action and distinguished
yourself."
In spite of these words, in spite of the ex-
pressions which I have put in italics and
the general tone of the letter. Captain Mi-
khailoff took a sweet and sad satisfaction in
imagining himself with his pale, provincial
lady friend. He recalled their evening con-
versations on sentiment in the parlor arbor,
and how his brave comrade, the ex-uhlan,
became vexed and disputed over games of
cards with kopek stakes when they succeed-
ed in starting a game in his study, and how
5^ Sebastopol.
his wife joked him about it. He recalled
the friendship these good people had shown
for him ; and perhaps there was something
more than friendship on the side of the pale
friend ! All these pictures in their familiar
frames arose in his imagination with mar-
vellous softness. He saw them in a rosy
atmosphere, and, smiling at them, he han-
dled affectionately the letter in the bottom
of his pocket.
These memories brought the captain in-
voluntarily back to his hopes, to his dreams.
" Imagine," he thought, as he went along the
narrow alley, " Natacha's joy and astonish-
ment when she reads in the Invalide that I
have been the first to get possession of a
cannon, and have received the Saint Georee!
I shall be promoted to be captain-major: I
was proposed for it a long time ago. It
will then be very easy for me to get to be
chief of an army battalion in the course of
a year, for many among us have been killed,
and many others will be during this cam-
paign. Then, in the next battle, when I
have made myself well known, they will in-
trust a regiment to me, and I shall become
lieutenant-colonel, commander of the Order
May, i8s5' 53
of Saint Anne — then colonel — " He was
already imagining himself general, honoring
with his presence Natacha, his comrade's
widow — for his friend would, according to
the dream, have to die about this time —
when the sound of the band came distinctly
to his ears. A crowd of promenaders at-
tracted his gaze, and he came to himself on
the boulevard as before, second -captain of
infantry.
II.
He first approached the pavilion, by the
side of which several musicians were play-
ing. Other soldiers of the same regiment
served as music-stands by holding before
them the open music -books, and a small
circle surrounded them, quartermasters, un-
der-ofhcers, nurses, and children, engaged in
watching rather than in listening. Around
the pavilion marines, aides-de-camp, officers
in white gloves were standing, were sitting,
or promenading. Farther off in the broad
avenue could be seen a confused crowd of
officers of every branch of the service, wom-
en of every class, some with bonnets on, the
majority with kerchiefs on their heads ; oth-
54 Sebastopol.
ers wore neither bonnets nor kerchiefs, but,
astonishing to relate, there were no old
women, all were young. Below in fragrant
paths shaded by white acacias were seen
isolated groups, seated and walking.
No one expressed any particular joy at
the sight of Captain Mikhailoff, with the ex-
ception, perhaps, of Objogoff and Souslikoff,
captains in his regiment, who shook his
hand warmly. But the first of the two had
no gloves ; he wore trousers of camel's-hair
cloth, a shabby coat, and his red face was
covered with perspiration ; the second spoke
with too loud a voice, and with shocking
freedom of speech. It was not very flatter-
ing to walk with these men, especially in
the presence of officers in white gloves.
Among the latter was an aide-de-camp, with
whom Mikhailoff exchanged salutes, and a
staff-officer whom he could have saluted as
well, having seen him a couple of times at
the quarters of a common friend.
There was positively no pleasure in prom-
enading with these two comrades, whom he
met five or six times a day, and shook hands
with them each time. He did not come to
the band concert for that.
May, i8s5' 55
He would have liked to go up to the
aide-de-camp with whom he exchanged sa-
lutes, and to chat with those gentlemen, not
in order that Captains Objogoff, Souslikoff,
Lieutenant Paschtezky, and others might
see him in conversation with them, but sim-
ply because they were agreeable, well-in-
formed people who could tell him some-
thing.
Why is Mikhailoff afraid ? and why can't
he make up his mind to go up to them ?
It is because he distrustfully asks himself
what he will do if these gentlemen do not
return his salute, if they continue to chat to-
gether, pretending not to see him, and if
they go away, leaving him alone among the
aristocrats. The word aristocrat, taken in
the sense of a particular group, selected with
great care, belonging to every class of soci-
ety, has lately gained a great popularity
among us in Russia — where it never ought
to have taken root. It has entered into all
the social strata where vanity has crept in
— and where does not this pitiable weakness
creep in ? Everywhere ; among the mer-
chants, the officials, the quartermasters, the
officers; at Saratoff, at Mamadisch, at Vi-
5^ Scbastopol.
nitzy — everywhere, in a word, where men
are. Now, since there are many men in a
besieged city Hke Sebastopol, there is also a
great deal of vanity ; that is to say, aristo-
crats are there in large numbers, although
death, the great leveller, hovers constantly
over the head of each man, be he aristo-
crat or not.
To Captain Objogoff, Second- captain
Mikhailoff is an aristocrat; to Second-
captain Mikhai'loff, Aide-de-camp Kalou-
guine is an aidstocrat, because he is aide-de-
camp, and says thee and thou familiarly to
other aides-de-camp ; lastly, to Kalouguine,
Count Nordoff is an aristocrat, because he
is aide-de-camp of the Emperor.
Vanity, vanity, nothing but vanity ! even
in the presence of death, and among men
ready to die for an exalted idea. Is not
vanity the characteristic trait, the destruc-
tive ill of our age ? Why has this weakness
not been recognized hitherto, just as small-
pox or cholera has been recognized ? Why
in our time are there only three kinds of
men — those who accept vanity as an exist-
ing fact, necessary, and consequently just,
and freely submit to it ; those who consider
May, i8s5' 57
it an evil element, but one impossible to de-
stroy ; and those who act under its influence
with unconscious servility ? Why have Ho-
mer and Shakespeare spoken of love, of
glory, and of suffering, while the literature
of our century is only the interminable his-
tory of snobbery and vanity ?
Mikhailoff, not able to make up his mind,
twice passed in front of the little group of
aristocrats. The third time, making a vio-
lent effort, he approached them. The group
was composed of four officers — the aide-de-
camp Kalouguine, whom Mikhailoff was ac-
quainted with, the aide-de-camp Prince Galt-
zine, an aristocrat to Kalouguine himself.
Colonel Neferdoff, one of the Hundred and
Twenty-tzuo (a group of society men who had
re-entered the service for this campaign
were thus called), lastly. Captain of Cavalry
Praskoukine, who was also among the Hun-
dred and Twenty-two. Happily for Mikhai-
loff, Kalouguine was in charming spirits ;
the general had just spoken very confiden-
tially to him, and Prince Galtzine, fresh from
Petersburg, was stopping in his quarters, so
he did not find it compromising to offer his
hand to a second-captain. Praskoukine did
5^ SebastopoL
not decide to do as much, although he had
often met Mikhailoff in the bastion, had
drunk his wine and his brandy more than
once, and owed him twelve rubles and a
half, lost at a game of preference. Being
only slightly acquainted with Prince Galt-
zine, he had no wish to call his attention to
his intimacy with a simple second-captain
of infantry. He merely saluted slightly.
" Well, captain," said Kalouguine, " when
are we going back to the little bastion.?
You remember our meeting on the Schwartz
redoubt ? It was warm there, hey ?"
" Yes, it was warm there," replied Mikhai-
loff, remembering that night when, following
the trench in order to reach the bastion, he
had met Kalouguine marching with a grand
air, bravely clattering his sword. " I would
not have to return there until to-morrow,
but we have an oiificer sick." And he was
going on to relate how, although it was not
his turn on duty, he thouQrht he ou^ht to
offer to replace Nepchissetzky, because the
commander of the eighth company was ill,
and only an ensign remained, but Kalou-
guine did not give him time to finish.
" I have a notion," said he, turning tow-
\
May, i8s5' 59
ards Prince Galtzine, " that something will
come off in a day or two."
" But why couldn't something come off
to-day?" timidly asked Mikhailoif, looking
first at Kalouguine and then at Galtzine.
No one replied. ■ Galtzine made a slight
grimace, and looking to one side over Mi-
khailoff's cap, said, after a moment's silence,
" What a pretty girl ! — yonder, with the
red kerchief. Do you know her, captain.'*"
" It is a sailor's daughter. She lives close
by me," he replied.
" Let's look at her closer,"
And Prince Galtzine took Kalouguine by
the arm on one side and the second-captain
on the other, sure that by this action he
would give the latter a lively satisfaction.
He was not deceived. Mikhailoff was super-
stitious, and to have anything to do with
women before going under fire was in his
eyes a great sin. But on that day he was
posing for a libertine. Neither Kalouguine
nor Galtzine was deceived by this, however.
The girl with the red kerchief was very
much astonished, having more than once
noticed that the captain blushed as he was
passing her window. Praskoukine marched
6o Sebasiopol.
behind and nudged Galtzine, making all
sorts of remarks in French ; but the path
being too narrow for them to march four
abreast, he was obliged to fall behind, and in
the second file to take Serviaguine's arm —
a naval officer known for his exceptional bra-
very, and very anxious to join the group of
aristocrats. This brave man gladly linked
his honest and muscular hand into Praskou-
kine's arm, whom he knew, nevertheless,
to be not quite honorable. Explaining to
Prince Galtzine his intimacy with the sailor,
Praskoukine whispered that he was a well-
known, brave man; but Prince Galtzine, who
had been, the evening before, in the fourth
bastion, and had seen a shell burst twenty
paces from him, considered himself equal
in courage to this gentleman ; also being
convinced that most reputations were ex-
aggerated, paid no attention to Serviaguine.
Mikhailoff was so happy to promenade in
this brilliant company that he thought no
more of the dear letter received from ¥ ,
nor of the dismal forebodings that assailed
him each time he went to the bastion. He
remained with them there until they had
visibly excluded him from their conversa-
May, 1 8^^. 6i
tion, avoiding his eye, as if to make him un-
derstand that he could go on his way alone.
At last they left him in the lurch. In spite
of that, the second-captain was so satisfied
that he was quite indifferent to the haughty
expression with which the yunker* Baron
Pesth straightened up and took off his hat
before him. This young man had become
very proud since he had passed his first
night in the bomb-proof of the fifth bastion,
an experience which, in his own eyes, trans-
formed him into a hero.
III.
No sooner had Mikhai'loff crossed his own
threshold than entirely different thoughts
came into his mind. He again saw his lit-
tle room, where beaten earth took the place
of a wooden floor, his warped windows, in
which the broken panes were replaced by
paper, his old bed, over which was nailed to
the wall a rug with the design of a figure of
* A cadet. The yunker ranks between sergeant and
second-lieutenant, and belongs to the class of commis-
sioned officers. Both the title and the function are bor-
rowed from the German {Junker). The present spelling
is adopted to represent more nearly the Russian pro-
nunciation.— Trans.
62 Sebastopol.
an amazon, his pair of Toula pistols, hanging
on the head-board, and on one side a second
untidy bed with an Indian coverlet belong-
ing to the yunker, who shared his quarters.
He saw his valet Nikita, who rose from the
ground where he was crouching, scratching
his head bristling with greasy hair. He saw
his old cloak, his second pair of boots, and
the bundle prepared for the night in the
bastion, wrapped in a cloth from which pro-
truded the end of a piece of cheese and the
neck of a bottle filled with brandy. Sud-
denly he remembered he had to lead his
company into the casemates that very night.
" I shall be killed, I'm sure," he said to
himself ; " I feel it. Besides, I offered to go
myself, and one w^ho does that is certain to
be killed. And what is the matter with this
sick man, this cursed Nepchissetzky ? Who
knows ? Perhaps he isn't sick at all. And,
thanks to him, a man will get killed — he'll
get killed, surely. However, if I am not
shot I will be put on the list for promotion.
I noticed the colonel's satisfaction w^ien I
asked permission to take the place of Nep-
chissetzky if he was sick. If I don t get
the rank of major, I shall certainly get the
May, 1 8s 5' ^3
Vladimir Cross. This is the thirteenth time
I go on duty in the bastion. Oh, oh, un-
lucky number! I shall be killed, I'm sure;
I feel it. Nevertheless, some one must go.
The company cannot go with an ensign ;
and if anything should happen, the honor of
the regiment, the honor of the army would
be assailed. It is my duty to go — yes, my
sacred duty. No matter, I have a presenti-
ment— "
The captain forgot that he had this pre-
sentiment, more or less strong, every time
he went to the bastion, and he did not know
that all who go into action have this feeling,
though in very different degrees. His sense
of duty which he had particularly developed
calmed him, and he sat down at his table
and wrote a farewell letter to his father. In
the course of ten minutes the letter was fin-
ished. He arose with moist eyes, and began
to dress, repeating to himself all the prayers
which he knew by heart. His servant, a
dull fellow, three-quarters drunk, helped him
put on his new coat, the old one he was ac-
customed to wear in the bastion not being
mended.
"Why hasn't that coat been mended.?
6^ Sebastopol.
You can't do anything but sleep, you
beast !"
" Sleep!" growled Nikita," when I am run-
ning about like a dog all day long. I tire
myself to death, and after that am not allow-
ed to sleep !"
" You are drunk again, I see."
" I didn't drink with your money ; why
do you find fault with me T
" Silence, fool !" cried the captain, ready
to strike him.
He was already nervous and troubled,
and Nikita's rudeness made him lose pa-
tience. Nevertheless, he was very fond of
the fellow, he even spoiled him, and had kept
him with him a dozen years.
" Fool ! fool !" repeated the servant. " Why
do you abuse me, sir — and at this time '^. It
isn't rioht to abuse me."
Mikhailoff thought of the place he was
going to, and was ashamed of himself.
" You would make a saint lose patience,
Nikita," he said, with a softer voice. " Leave
that letter addressed to my father lying on
the table. Don't touch it," he added, blushing.
" All right," said Nikita, weakening under
the influence of the wine he had taken, at
May, 1855. 65
his own expense, as he said, and blinking
his eyes, ready to weep.
Then when the captain shouted, on leav-
ing the house, " Good-by, Nikita !" he burst
forth in a violent fit of sobbing, and seizing
the hand of his master, kissed it, howling all
the while, and saying, over and over again,
"Good-by, master!"
An old sailor's wife at the door, good
woman as she was, could not help taking
part in this affecting scene. Rubbing her
eyes with her dirty sleeve, she mumbled
something about masters who, on their side,
have to put up with so much, and went on to
relate for the hundredth time to the drunk-
en Nikita how she, poor creature, was left a
widow, how her husband had been killed
during the first bombardment and his house
ruined, for the one she lived in now did
not belong to her, etc., etc. After his mas-
ter was gone, Nikita lighted his pipe, begged
the landlord's daughter to fetch him some
brandy, quickly wiped his tears, and ended
up by quarrelling with the old woman about
a little pail he said she had broken.
" Perhaps I shall only be wounded," the
captain thought at nightfall, approaching
5
66 Sevastopol.
the bastion at the head of his company.
" But where — here or there ?"
He placed his finger first on his stomach
and then on his chest.
" If it were only here," he thought, point-
ing to the upper part of his thigh, " and if
the ball passed round the bone ! But if it is
a fracture it's all over."
Mikhailoff, by following the trenches,
reached the casemates safe and sound. In
perfect darkness, assisted by an officer of
the sappers, he put his men to work ; then
he sat down in a hole in the shelter of the
parapet. They were firing only at inter-
vals ; now and again, first on our side and
then on his, a flash blazed forth, and the
fuse of a shell traced a curve of fire on the
dark, starlit sky. But the projectiles fell
far off, behind or to the right of the quar-
ters in which the captain hid at the bottom
of a pit. He ate a piece of cheese, drank a
few drops of brandy, lighted a cigarette, and
having said his prayers, tried to sleep.
IV.
Prince Galtzine, Lieutenant -colonel Ne-
ferdorf, and Praskoukine — whom nobody
May, 18^5. dy
had invited, and with whom no one chatted,
but who followed them just the same — left
the boulevard to go and drink tea at Kalou-
guine's quarters.
" Finish your story about Vaska Mendel,"
said Kalouguine.
Having thrown off his cloak, he was sit-
ting beside the window in a stuffed easy-
chair, and unbuttoned the collar of his well-
starched, fine Dutch linen shirt.
" How did he get married again .?"
" It's worth any amount of money, I tell
you ! There was a time when there was
nothing else talked about at Petersburg,"
replied Prince Galtzine, laughingly.
He left the piano where he had been sit-
ting, and drew near the window.
" It's worth any amount of money! I know
all the details — "
And gayly and wittily he set about relat-
ing the story of an amorous intrigue, which
we will pass over in silence because it offers
us little interest. The striking thing about
these gentlemen was, that one of them seat-
ed in the window, another at the piano, and
a third on a chair with his legs doubled up,
seemed to be quite different men from what
68 Scbastopol.
they were a moment before on the boule-
vard. No more conceit, no more of this
ridiculous affectation towards the infantry
oiificers. Here between themselves they
showed out what they were — good fellows,
gay, and in high spirits. Their conversa-
tion continued upon their comrades and
their acquaintances in Petersburg.
^'AndMaslovsky.?"
" Which one — the uhlan or the horse-
guardsman ?"
" I know them both. In my time the
horse-guardsman was only a boy just out
of school. And the oldest, is he a cap-
tain r
" Oh yes, for a long time."
" Is he always with his Bohemian girl V
" No, he left her—"
And the talk went on in this tone.
Prince Galtzine sanor j^ a charminor man-
ner a gypsy song, accompanying himself
on the piano. Praskoukine, without being
asked, sang second, and so well too that, to
his great delight, they begged him to do it
again.
A servant brought in tea, cream, and rusks
on a silver tray.
May, i8s5' ^9
" Give some to the prince," said Kalou-
guine.
" Isn't it strange to think," said Galtzine,
drinking his glass of tea near the window,
" that we are here in a besieged city, that
we have a piano, tea with cream, and all this
in lodgings which I would be glad to live
in at Petersburg ?"
" If we didn't even have that," said the old
lieutenant-colonel, always discontented, " ex-
istence would be intolerable. This contin-
ual expectation of something, or this seeing
people killed every day without stopping,
and this living in the mud without the least
comfort — "
" But our infantry ofhcers," interrupted
Kalousuine, " those who live in the bastion
with the soldiers, and share their soup with
them in the bomb-proof, how do they get
onr
" How do they get on ? They don't
change their linen, to be sure, for ten days
at a time, but they are astonishing fellows,
true heroes !"
Just at this moment an infantry officer
entered the room.
" I — I have received an order — to go to
yo Sebastopol.
general — to his Excellency, from General
N "he said, timidly saluting.
Kalouguine rose, and without returning
the salute of the new-comer, without invit-
ing him to be seated, begged him with cruel
politeness and an official smile to wait a
while ; then he went on talking in French
with Galtzine, without paying the slightest
attention to the poor officer, who stood in
the middle of the room, and did not know
what to do with himself.
" I have been sent on an important mat-
ter," he said at last, after a moment of si-
lence.
" If that Is so, be kind enough to follow
me." Kalouguine threw on his cloak and
turned towards the door. An instant later
he came back from the general's room.
" Well, gentlemen, I believe they are go-
ing to make it warm to-night."
" Ah ! what — a sortie .?" they all asked to-
gether.
" I don't know, you will see yourselves,"
he replied, with an enigmatic smile.
" My chief is in the bastion, I must go
there," said Praskoukine, putting on his
sword.
May, 1855. 71
No one replied ; he ought to know what
he had to do. Praskoukine and Neferdorf
went out to go to their posts.
" Good-by, gentlemen, att revoir ! we will
meet again to - night," cried Kalouguine
through the window, while they set out at a
rapid trot, bending over the pommels of
their Cossack saddles. The sound of their
horses' shoes quickly died away in the dark
street.
" Come, tell me, will there really be some-
thing going on to-night?" said Galtzine,
leaning on the window-sill near Kalouguine,
whence they were watching the shells rising
over the bastions.
" I can tell you, you alone. You have
been in the bastions, haven't you ?"
Although Galtzine had only been there
once he replied by an afhrmative gesture.
" Well, opposite our lunette there was a
trench" — and Kalouguine, who was not a
specialist, but who was satisfied of the value
of his military opinions, began to explain,
mixing himself up and making wrong use
of the terms of fortification, the state of our
works, the situation of the enemy, and the
plan of the affair which had been prepared.
7^ Sebastopol.
" There ! there ! They have begun to
fire heavily on our quarters ; is that coming
from our side or from his — the one that has
just burst there?" And the two officers,
leaning on the window, watched the lines of
fire which the shells traced crossinof each
other in the air, the white powder-smoke,
the flashes which preceded each report and
illuminated for a second the blue-black sky ;
they listened to the roar of the cannonade,
which increased in violence.
" What a charming panorama !" said Ka-
louguine, attracting his guest's attention to
the' truly beautiful spectacle. " Do you
know that sometimes one can't tell a star
from a bomb-shell .?"
"Yes, it is true; I just took that for a
star, but it is coming down. Look 1 it
bursts ! And that large star there yonder
— what do they call it ? One would say it
was a shell 1"
" I am so accustomed to them that when
I go back to Russia a starry sky will seem
to me to be sparkling with bomb- shells.
One gets so used to it."
" Ought I not to go and take part in this
sortie .?" said Prince Galtzine, after a pause.
May, 1855. yj
" My dear fellow, what an idea ! Don't
think of it. I won't let you go; you will
have time enough."
"Seriously — do you think I ought not
to?"
At this moment, right in the direction
these gentlemen were looking, could be
heard above the roar of artillery the rattle
of a terrible fusillade ; a thousand little
flames spurted and sparkled along the
whole line.
" Look, it is in full swing," said Kalou-
guine. " I can't calmly listen to this fusil-
lade ; it stirs my soul ! They are shouting
' Hurrah !' " he added, stretching his ear tow-
ards the bastion, from which arose the dis-
tant and prolonged clamor of thousands of
voices.
" Who is shouting ' Hurrah' — he or we V
" I don't know ; but they are surely fight-
ing at the sword's point, for the fusillade has
stopped."
An ofificer on horseback, followed by a
Cossack, galloped up under their window,
stopped, and dismounted.
" Where do you come from ?"
" From the bastion, to see the general."
7-/ Sebastopol.
" Come, what is the matter ? Speak !"
" They have attacked — have taken the
quarters. The French have pushed for-
ward their reserves — ours have been attack-
ed— and there were only two battahons of
them," said the officer, out of breath.
It was the same one who had come in
the evening, but this time he went towards
the door with confidence.
" Then we retreated ?" asked Galtzine.
" No," repHed the officer, in a surly tone,
" a battalion arrived in time. We repulsed
them, but the chief of the regiment is killed,
and many officers besides. They want re-
inforcements."
So saying, he went with Kalouguine into
the general's room, whither we will not fol-
low them.
Five minutes later Kalouguine set out
for the bastion on a horse, which he rode in
the Cossack fashion, a kind of riding which
seems to give a particular pleasure to the
aides-de-camp. He was the bearer of cer-
tain orders, and had to await the definite re-
sult of the affair. As to Prince Galtzine,
he, agitated by the painful emotions which
the signs of a battle in progress usually ex-
Afay, 1833. 75
cite in the idle spectator, hastily went out
into the street to wander aimlessly to and
fro.
V.
Soldiers carried the wounded on stretch-
ers, and supported others under the arms.
It was very dark in the streets ; here and
there shone the lights in the hospital win-
dows or in the quarters of a wakeful officer.
The uninterrupted sound of the cannonade
and the fusillade came from the bastions,
and the same fires still lighted up the black
sky. From time to time could be recog-
nized the gallop of a staff-officer, the groan
of a wounded man, the steps and the voices
of the stretcher-bearers, the exclamations of
dotins: women who stood on the thresholds
of their houses and watched in the direction
of the firing.
Among these last we find our acquaint-
ance Nikita, the old sailor's widow with
whom he had made up, and the little daugh-
ter of the latter, a child of ten years.
" Oh, my God ! holy Virgin and Mother !"
murmured the old woman, with a sigh ; and
she followed with her eyes the shells which
^6 Sebastopol.
flew through space from one point to anoth-
er like balls of fire. " What a misfortune !
what a misfortune ! The first bombardment
was not so hard. Look ! one cursed thimj
has burst in the outskirts of the town ri^ht
over our house !"
" No, it is farther off ; they are falling in
Aunt Arina's garden," said the child.
" Where is my master! where is he now!"
groaned Nikita, still drunk, and drawling his
words. " No tongue can tell how I love my
master ! If, God forbid, they commit the
sin of killing him, I assure you, good aunt,
I won't be answerable for what I may do !
Really, he is such a good master that —
There is no w^ord to express it, you see. I
wouldn't exchange him for those who are
playing cards inside, true. Pooh !" con-
cluded Nikita, pointing to the captain's
room, in which the yunker Yvatchesky had
arranged with the ensigns a little festival
to celebrate the decoration he had just re-
ceived.
" What a lot of shooting-stars there are !
what a lot of shooting -stars there are!"
cried the child, breaking the silence which
followed Nikita's speech. " There ! there !
May, 183 s. 77
another one is falling ! What is that for ?
Say, mother."
" They'll destroy our cabin ]" sighed the
old woman, without replying.
" To-day," resumed the sing-song voice of
the little prattler — " to-day I saw in uncle's
room, near the wardrobe, an enormous ball ;
it had come through the roof and had fallen
right into the room. It is so large that
they can't lift it."
" The women who had husbands and
money are gone away," continued the old
woman. " I have only a cabin, and they
are destroying that ! Look ! look how they
are firing, the wretches ! Lord, my God !"
" And just as we were coming out of un-
cle's house," the child went on, "a bomb-
• shell came straight down ; it burst, and
threw the earth on all sides ; one little piece
almost struck us !"
VI.
Prince Galtzine met in constantly increas-
ing numbers wounded men borne on stretch-
ers, others dragging themselves along on
foot or supporting each other, and talking
noisily.
7^ Sebastopol.
" When they fell upon us, brothers," said
the bass voice of a tall soldier who carried
two muskets on his shoulder — "when they
fell upon us, shouting 'Allah! allah !'* they
pushed one another on. We killed the first,
and others climbed over them. There was
nothing to be done; there were too many of
them — too many of them !"
" You come from the bastion .?" asked
Galtzine, interrupting the orator.
" Yes, your Excellency."
" Well, what happened there .? Tell me."
" This happened, your Excellency — his
strength surrounded us ; he climbed on the
ramparts and had the best of it, your Ex-
cellency."
"How.^ the best of it.? But you beat
them back .?"
"Ah yes, beat them back ! But when all
his strength came down upon us, he killed
our men, and no help for it !"
The soldier was mistaken, for the trench-
es were ours ; but, strange but well-authenti-
cated fact, a soldier wounded in a battle al-
* The Russian soldiers accustomed to fight the Turks
and to hear their battle-cries, always tell that the French
have the same shout, "Allah !"— Trans.
May, iSss. ycj
ways believes it a lost and a terribly bloody
one.
" I was told, nevertheless, that you beat
him back," continued Galtzine, good-nat-
uredly ; " perhaps it was after you came
away. Did you leave there long ago ?"
" This very moment, your Excellency.
The trenches must belong to him ; he had
the upperhand — "
" Why, aren't you ashamed of yourselves ?
Abandon the trenches ! It is frightful," said
Galtzine, irritated by the indifference of the
man.
" What could be done when he had the
strens'thr
"Ah, your Excellency," said a soldier borne
on a stretcher, " why not abandon them,
when he has killed us all? If we had the
strength we would never have abandoned
them ! But what was to be done ? I had
just stuck one of them when I was hit —
Oh, softly, brothers, softly ! Oh, for mer-
cy's sake !" groaned the wounded man.
" Hold on ; far too many are coming
back," said Galtzine, again stopping the tall
soldier with the two muskets. " Wl^y don't
you go back, hey.? Halt!"
8o Sebastopol.
The soldier obeyed, and took off his cap
with his left hand.
"Where are you going to?" sternly de-
manded the prince, " and who gave you per-
mission, good -for — " But coming nearer,
he saw that the soldier's riorht arm was cov-
ered with blood up to the elbow.
" I am wounded, your Excellency."
"Wounded! where?"
" Here, by a bullet," and the soldier
showed his arm ; " but I don't know what
hit me a crack there." He held his head
down, and showed on the back of his neck
locks of hair glued together by coagulated
blood.
" Whose gun is this ?"
" It is a French carbine, your Excellency ;
I brought it away. I wouldn't have come
away, but I had to lead that small soldier,
who might fall down;" and he pointed to
an infantryman who was walking some
paces ahead of them leaning on his gun
and dragging his left leg with difficulty.
Prince Galtzine was cruelly ashamed of
his unjust suspicions, and conscious that
he was. blushing, turned around. Without
questioning or looking after the wounded
May, iSsS' ^^
any more, he directed his steps towards the
field-hospital. Making his way to the en-
trance with difficulty through soldiers, lit-
ters, stretcher-bearers who came in with the
wounded and went out with the dead, Gal-
tzine entered as far as the first room, took
one look about him, recoiled involuntarily,
and precipitately fled into the street. What
he saw there was far too horrible !
VII.
The great, high, sombre hall, lighted only
by four or five candles, where the surgeons
moved about examining the wounded, was
literally crammed with people. Stretcher-
bearers continually brought new wounded
and placed them side by side in rows on
the ground. The crowd was so great that
the wretches pushed against one another
and bathed in their neighbors' blood. Pools
of stagnant gore stood in the empty places ;
from the feverish breath of several hundred
men, the perspiration of the bearers, rose
a heavy, thick, fetid atmosphere in which
candles burned dimly in different parts of
the hall. A confused murmur of groans,
6
82 Sebastopol.
sighs, death-rattles, was interrupted by pierc-
ing cries. Sisters of Charity, whose calm
faces did not express woman's futile and
tearful compassion, but an active and live-
ly interest, glided here and there in the
midst of bloody coats and shirts, sometimes
striding over the wounded, carrying medi-
cines, water, bandages, lint. Surgeons with
their sleeves turned up, on their knees be-
fore the wounded, examined and probed the
wounds by the flare of torches held by their
assistants, in spite of the terrible cries and
supplications of the patients. Seated at a
little table beside the door a major wrote
the number 532.
" Ivan Bogoief, private in the third com-
pany of the regiment from C .fractura
femtiris complicata /" shouted the surgeon,
who was dressing a broken limb at the oth-
er end of the hall. " Turn him over."
" Oh, oh, good fathers !" gasped the sol-
dier, begging them to leave him in peace.
'' Perfoi-atio capites. Simon Neferdof, lieu-
tenant-colonel of the infantry regiment from
N . Have a little patience, colonel.
There is no way of — I shall be obliged to
leave you there," said a third, who was fum-
May, 1S55. 83
blins with a sort of hook in the head of the
unfortunate officer.
" In Heaven's name, get done quickly !"
"■ Perforatio pectoris. Sebastian Sereda,
private — what regiment ? But it is no use,
don't write it down. Moritur. Carry him
off," added the surgeon, leaving the dying
man, who with upturned eyes was already
gasping.
Forty or fifty stretcher-bearers awaited
their burdens at the door. The living were
sent to the hospital, the dead to the chapel.
They waited in silence, and sometimes a
sigh escaped them as they contemplated
this picture.
VIII.
Kalouguine met many wounded on his
way to the bastion. Knowing by experience
the bad influence of this spectacle on the
spirit of a man who is going under fire, he
not only did not stop them to ask questions,
but he tried not to notice those he met.
At the foot of the hill he ran across a staff-
officer coming down from the bastion full
speed.
" Zobkine ! Zobkine ! one moment !"
8^^ Sebastopol.
" What ?"
" Where do you come from ?"
" From the quarters."
" Well, what is going on there ? Is it
hot?"
" Terribly !"
And the officer galloped off. The fusil-
lade seemed to grow less ; on the other hand,
the cannonade began again with renewed
vigor.
" Hum — a bad business !" thousfht Kalou-
O
guine. He had an indefinite but very dis-
agreeable feeling; he had even a presenti-
ment, that is to say, a very common thought
— the thought of death.
Kalouguine possessed self-love and nerves
of steel. He was, in a word, what is com-
monly called a brave man. He did not give
way to this first impression ; he raised his
courage by recalling the story of one of
Napoleon's aides-de-camp, who came to his
chief with his head bloody, after having car-
ried an order with all speed.
" Are you wounded T' asked the emperor.
" I crave pardon, sire, I am dead !" replied
the aide-de-camp, and falling from his horse,
died on the spot.
May, 1855. 8 5
This anecdote pleased him. Putting him-
self in imagination in the place of the aide-
de-camp, he lashed his horse, put on a still
more " Cossack " gait, and rising in his stir-
rups to cast a look upon the platoon that
followed him on a trot, he reached the place
where they had to dismount. There he
found four soldiers sitting on some rocks,
smoking their pipes.
" What are you doing there ?" he cried.
" We have been carrying a wounded man,
your Excellency, and we are resting," said
one of them, hiding his pipe behind his
back and taking off his cap.
" That's it — you are resting ! Forward !
to your post !"
He put himself at their head and pro-
ceeded with them along the trench, meet-
ing wounded men at every step. On the
top of the plateau he turned to the left and
found himself, a few steps farther on, com-
pletely isolated. A piece of a shell whistled
near him and buried itself in the trenches ;
a mortar-bomb rising in the air seemed to
fly straight for his breast. Seized by a sud-
den terror, he rushed on several steps and
threw himself down. When the bomb had
86 Sebastopol
burst some distance off he was very angry
with himself and got up. He looked around
to see if any one had noticed him lying
down ; no one was near.
Let fear once get possession of the soul,
and it does not readily yield its place to an-
other sentiment. He who had boasted of nev-
er bowing his head, went along the trenches
at a rapid pace, and almost on his hands and
feet.
" Ah ! it is a bad sign," thought he, as his
foot tripped. " I shall be killed, sure !"
He breathed with dii^culty ; he was bathed
with sweat, and he was astonished that he
made no effort to overcome his friorht. Sud-
O
denly, at the sound of a step which ap-
proached, he quickly straightened up, raised
his head, clinked his sabre with a swagger,
and lessened his pace. He met an officer
of sappers and a sailor. The former shout-
ed, " Lie down !" pointing to the luminous
point of a bomb-shell, which came nearer,
redoubling its speed and its brightness.
The projectile struck in the side of the
trench. At the cry of the officer, Kalou-
guine made a slight, involuntary bow, then
continued on his way without a frown.
May, i8s5' ^7
"There's a brave fellow!" said the sailor
who coolly watched the fall of the bomb.
His practised eye had calculated that the
pieces would not fall into the trench. " He
wouldn't lie down !"
In order to reach the bomb-proof occu-
pied by the commander of the bastion, Ka-
louguine had only one more open space to
pass when he felt himself again overcome
by a stupid fear. His heart beat as if it
would burst, the blood rushed to his head,
and it was only by a violent effort of self-
control that he reached the shelter at a
run.
"Why are you so out of breath?" asked
the general, after he had delivered the order
he brought.
" I walked very quickly. Excellency."
" Can I offer you a glass of wine ?"
Kalouguine drank a bumper and lit a
cigarette. The engagement was finished,
but a violent cannonade continued on both
sides. The commander of the bastion and
several officers, among them Praskoukine,
vi^ere assembled in the bomb-proof; they
were talking over the details of the affair.
The interior, covered with figured paper
88 Sebastopol.
with a blue ground, was furnished with a
lounge, a bed, a table covered with papers,
and decorated with a clock hanging on
the wall and an image, before which burned
a small lamp. Seated in this comfortable
room, Kalouguine saw all the marks of a
quiet life ; he measured with his eye the
great beams of the ceiling half a yard thick ;
he heard the noise of the cannonade, deaf-
ened by the bomb-proofs, and he could not
understand how he could have yielded twice
to unpardonable attacks of weakness. An-
gry with himself, he would have liked to ex-
pose himself to danger again to put his cour-
age to the proof.
A naval officer with a great mustache
and a cross of Saint George on his staff
overcoat came at this moment to beg the
general to give him some workmen to re-
pair two sand-bag embrasures in the bat-
tery.
" I am very glad to see you, captain," said
Kalouguine to the new-comer ; " the general
charged me to ask you if your cannon can
fire grape into the trenches."
" One single gun," replied the captain,
with a morose air.
May, i8s5' ^9
" Let's go and look at them !"
The officer frowned and growled out,
" I have just passed the whole night there,
and I have come in to rest a little ; can't
you go there alone? You will find my
second in command. Lieutenant Kartz, who
will show you everything."
The captain had commanded this same
battery for full six months, and it was one of
the most dangerous posts. He had not left
the bastion, indeed, since the beginning of
the siege, and even before the construction
of the bomb-proof shelters. He had gained
among the sailors a reputation for invinci-
ble couraore. On this account his refusal
was a lively surprise to Kalouguine.
" That's what reputations are !" thought
the latter. " Then I will go alone, if you al-
low me," he added aloud, in a mocking tone,
to which the officer paid no attention.
Kalouguine forgot that this man counted
six whole months of life in the bastion,
while he, altogether, at different times, had
not passed more than fifty hours there.
Vanity, desire to shine, to get a reward, to
make a reputation, even the delight in dan-
ger, incited him still more, while the captain
go Sebastopol.
had become indifferent to all that. He had
also made a show, had performed courage-
ous deeds, had uselessly risked his life, had
hoped for and had received rewards, had es-
tablished his reputation as a brave officer.
But to-day these stimulants had lost their
power over him ; he looked at things differ-
ently. Well understanding that he had little
chance of escaping death after six months
in the bastions, he did not thoughtlessly
risk his life, and limited himself to fulfilling
strictly his duty. In fact, the young lieu-
tenant appointed to his battery only eight
days ago, and Kalouguine to whom this
lieutenant showed it in detail, seemed ten
times braver than the captain. Rising in
each other's estimation, these two hung out
of the embrasures and climbed over the
ramparts.
His inspection ended, and as he was re-
turning to the bomb-proof, Kalouguine ran
against the general, who was going to the
observation tower, followed by his staff.
" Captain Praskoukine," ordered the gen-
eral, " go down, I beg, into the quarters on
the right. You will find there the second
battalion from M which is working
May, 185S' p/
down there. Order it to stop work, to re-
tire without noise, and to rejoin its regiment
in the reserve force at the bottom of the
hill. You understand? Lead it yourself
to the regiment."
" I'm off," replied Praskoukine, and he
departed on the run.
The cannonade diminished in violence.
IX.
" Are you the second battalion of the
regiment from M .?" asked Praskoukine
of a soldier who was carrying sand-bags.
" Yes."
" Where is the commander T
Mikhailoff, supposing that the captain of
the company was wanted, came out of his
pit, raised his hand to his cap, and approach-
ed Praskoukine, whom he took for a com-
manding officer.
" The general orders you — you must —
you must retire at once — without any noise
— to the rear ; that is, to the reserve force,"
said Praskoukine, stealthily looking in the
direction of the enemy's fire.
Having recognized his comrade, and hav-
ing gained an idea of the manoeuvre, Mi-
g2 Sebasiopol.
khai'loff dropped his hand and gave the or-
der to the soldiers. They took their mus-
kets, put on their coats, and marched off.
He who has never felt it cannot appreci-
ate the joy which a man experiences at leav-
ing, after three hours of bombardment, a
place as dangerous as the quarters were.
During these three hours Mikhailoff, who,
not without reason, was thinking of death
as an inevitable thing, had the time to get
accustomed to the notion that he would
surely be killed, and that he no longer be-
longed to the living world. In spite of that,
it was by a violent effort that he kept from
running when he came out of the quarters
at the head of his company, side by side with
Praskoukine.
"■'All revoir ! don voyage T shouted the
major who commanded the battalion left
in the quarters. Mikhailoff had shared his
cheese with him, both of them seated in a
pit in shelter of the parapet.
" The same to you ; good-luck ! It seems
to me it is getting quieter."
But scarcely had he uttered these words
than the enemy, who had doubtless noticed
the movement, began to fire his best ; our
May, i8sS' 93
side replied, and the cannonade began again
with violence. The stars were shining, but
with little light, for the night was dark.
The shots and the shell explosions alone
liofhted for an instant the surroundinor ob-
jects. The soldiers marched rapidly and
in silence, some hurrying past the others :
only the regular sound of their steps could
be heard on the hardened earth, accompa-
nied by the incessant roar of the cannon-
ade, the click of bayonets striking one an-
other, the sigh or the prayer of a soldier :
"Lord! Lord!"
Occasionally a wounded man groaned,
and a stretcher was called for. In the com-
pany which Mikhailoff commanded, the ar-
tillery fire had disabled twenty -six men
since the day before.
A flash illuminated the distant darkness
of the horizon; the sentinel on the bastion
cried, " Can — non !" and a ball, whistling over
the company, buried itself in the ground,
which it ploughed up, sending the stones
flying about.
" The devil take them ! How slowly they
march !" thought Praskoukine, who, follow-
ing Mikhailoff, was looking behind him at
g4- SebastopoL
every step. " I could run ahead, since I
have delivered the order — Indeed, no !
they would say I was a coward ! Whatever
happens I will march along with them."
" Why is he following me ?" said Mikhai-
lo£f, on his side. " I always noticed he
brings bad luck. There comes another,
straight towards us, seems to me."
A few hundred steps farther on they met
Kalouguine on his way to the quarters,
bravely rattling his sword. The general
had sent him to ask how the work went on,
but at the sight of Mikhailoff he said to
himself that, instead of exposing himself to
this terrible fire, he could just as well find
out by asking the officer who came from
there. Mikhailoff gave him, in fact, all the
details. Kalouguine accompanied him to
the end of the path, and re-entered the
trench which led to the bomb-proof.
" What's the news T asked the officer,
who was supping alone in the earthwork.
" Nothing. I don't believe there will be
any more fighting."
" How ! no more fighting } On the con-
trary, the general has just gone up to the
bastion. A new regiment has arrived. Be-
\
May, i8s5' 95
sides — listen! — the fusillade is beginning
again. Don't go. What's the use of it.'^"
added the officer, as Kalouguine made a
movement.
" Nevertheless, I ought to go," said the
latter to himself. " However, haven't I been
exposed to danger long enough to-day ?
The fusillade is terrible."
" It is true," he continued aloud, " I had
better wait here."
Twenty minutes later the general came
back, accompanied by his officers, among
whom was the yunker, Baron Pesth, but
Praskoukine was not with them. Our
troops had retaken and reoccupied the
quarters. After having heard the details
of the affair, Kalouguine went out of the
shelter with Pesth.
X.
*' You have some blood on your overcoat;
were you fighting hand-to-hand.''" asked
Kalouguine.
" Oh ! it is frightful ! Imagine—" And
Pesth began to relate how he had led his
company after the death of his chief, how
he had killed a Frenchman, and how, with-
g6 Sebastopol.
out his assistance, the battle would have
been lost. The foundation of the tale, that
is, the death of the chief and the French-
man killed by Pestli, was true, but the
yunker, elaborating the details, enlarged on
them and boasted.
He boasted without premeditation. Dur-
ing: the whole affair he had lived in a fan-
tastic mist, so much so that everything that
had happened seemed to him to have taken
place vaguely, God knows where or how,
and to belong to some one besides himself.
Naturally enough he tried to invent inci-
dents to his own advantage. However, this
is the way the thing happened :
The battalion to which he had been de-
tailed to take part in the sortie remained
two hours under the enemy's fire, then the
commander said a few words, the company
chiefs began to move about, the troops left
the shelter of the parapet and were drawn
up in columns a hundred paces farther on.
Pesth was ordered to place himself on the
flank of the second company. Neither un-
derstandinor the situation nor the move-
ment, the yunker, with restrained breath
and a prey to a nervous tremor which
May, 1 8s 5' 97
ran down his back, placed himself at the
post indicated, and gazed mechanically be-
fore him into the distant darkness, expect-
ing something terrible. However, the sen-
timent of fear was not the dominating one
in his case, for the firing had ceased. What
appeared to him strange, uncomfortable, was
to find himself in the open field outside the
fortifications.
The commander of the battalion once
more pronounced certain words, which were
again repeated in a low voice by the ofHcers,
and suddenly the black wall formed by the
first company sank down. The order to lie
down had been given ; the second com-
pany did the same, and Pesth in lying down
pricked his hand with some sharp thing.
The small silhouette of the captain of the
second company alone remained standing,
and he brandished a naked sword without
ceasing to talk and to walk back and forth
in front of the soldiers.
" Attention, children ! Show yourselves
brave men ! No firins: • Sfet at the wretch-
es with the bayonet ! When I shout ' hur-
rah !' follow me — closely and all together —
we will show them what we can do. We
7
g8 Sebastopol.
won't cover ourselves witli shame, will we,
children? For the Czar, bur father !"
"What's the name of the company chief?"
asked Pesth from a yunker next to him.
"He is a brave one !"
" Yes, he's always so under fire. He is
called Lissinkoffsky."
Just at this moment a flame spurted out,
followed by a deafening report; splinters
and stones flew in the air. Fifty seconds
later one of the stones fell from a great
heiHit and crushed the foot of a soldier. A
shell had fallen in the middle of the com-
pany, a proof that the French had noticed
the column.
" Ah ! you are sending us shells now !
Let us get at you and you will taste the
Russian bayonet, curse you!"
The captain shouted so loud that the
commander of the battalion ordered him to
be silent.
The first company rose up, after that
the second ; the soldiers took up their mus-
kets and the battalion advanced.
Pesth, seized by a foolish terror, could not
remember whether they marched far; he
went on like a drunken man. Suddenly
May, 1 8s 5' 99
thousands of fires flashed on all sides, with
whizzings and crackings. He gave a yell
and ran forward, because they all yelled and
ran ; then he tripped and fell over some-
thing. It was the company chief, wounded
at the head of his troops, who took the yun-
ker for a Frenchman and seized his leg.
Pesth pulled his feet away and got up.
Some one threw himself on him in the dark-
ness, and he was almost knocked over again.
A voice shouted to him, " Kill him, then !
What are you waiting for .?"
A hand seized his musket, the point of
his bayonet buried itself in something soft.
"Ah! Dieul"
These words were spoken in French, with
an accent of pain and fright. The yunker
knew he had just killed a Frenchman. A
cold sweat moistened his whole body; he
began to tremble, and threw down his mus-
ket. But that lasted only a second; the
thought that he was a hero came to his
mind. Picking up his gun, he left the dead
man, running and shouting " Hurrah !" with
the rest. Twenty steps farther on he
reached the trench where our troops and
the commander of battalion were.
loo Scbastopol.
" I have killed one !" said he to the latter.
" You are a brave fellow, baron," was the
reply.
XL
" Did you know that Praskoukine is
dead .?" said Pesth to Kalouo:uine on the
way back.
" It isn't possible !"
" Why not ? I saw him myself."
" Good-by ; I am in a hurry."
" A lucky day !" thought Kalouguine, as
he was entering his quarters. " For the
first time I am lucky. It has been a brill-
iant affair ; I have come out of it safe and
sound ; there must be recommendations for
decoration. A sword of honor will be the
least they can give me. Faith, I have well
deserved it !"
He made his report to the general, and
went to his room. Prince Galtzine was
reading a book at the table, and had been
waiting for him a long time.
It was with an inexpressible joy that Ka-
louguine found himself at home, far from
danger. Lying on his bed in his night-
shirt, he related to Galtzine the incidents of
May, i8j^. loi
the fight. These incidents naturally ar-
ranged themselves so as to make it appear
how he, KaloLigLiine, was a brave and capa-
ble officer. He discreetly touched on this
because no one could be ignorant of it, and
no one, with the exception of the defunct
captain Praskoukine, had the right to doubt
it. The latter, although he felt very much
honored to walk arm-in-arm with the aide-
de-camp, had told one of his friends in his
very ear the evening before that Kalouguine
— a very good fellow, however — did not like
to walk on the bastions.
We left Praskoukine coming back with
Mikha'iloff. He reached a less exposed
place and began to breathe again, when he
perceived, on turning around, the sudden
Hght of a flash. The sentinel shouted,
" Mor — tar!" And one of the soldiers who
followed added, " It is coming straight into
the bastion !" Mikha'iloff looked. The lu-
minous point of the bomb-shell seemed to
stop directly over his head, exactly the mo-
ment when it was impossible to tell what
direction it was going to take. That was
for the space of a second. Suddenly, re-
doubling its speed, the projectile came
102 SebastopoL
nearer and nearer. The sparks of the fuse
could be seen flying out, the dismal hissing
was plainly audible. It was going to drop
right in the midst of the battalion. " To
earth !" shouted a voice. Mikhailoff and
Praskoukine obeyed. The latter, with shut
eyes, heard the shell fall somewhere on the
hard earth very near him. A second, which
appeared to him an hour, passed, and the
shell did not burst. Praskoukine was frioht-
o
ened; then he asked himself what cause he
had for fear. Perhaps it had fallen farther
away, and he wrongly imagined that he
heard the fuse hissing near him. Opening
his eyes, he was satisfied to see Mikha'i-
loff stretched motionless at his feet ; but at
the same time he perceived, a yard off, the
lighted fuse of the shell spinning around
like a top. A glacial terror, which stifled
every thought, every sentiment, took pos-
session of his soul. He hid his face in his
hands.
Another second passed, during which a
whole world of thoughts, of hopes, of sensa-
tions, and of souvenirs passed through his
mind.
"Whom will it kill? Me or Mikha'floff,
May, 1855, 103
or indeed both of us together? If it is I,
where will it hit me ? If in the head, it will
be all over ; if on the foot, they will cut it
off, then I shall insist that they give me
chloroform, and I may get well. Perhaps
Mikha'iloff alone will be killed, and later I
will tell how we were close together, and
how I was covered with his blood. No, no !
it is nearer me — it will be I !"
Then he remembered the twelve rubles
he owed Mikhailoff, and another debt left
at Petersburg, which ought to have been
paid long ago. A Bohemian air that he
sang the evening before came to his mind.
He also saw in his imagination the lady he
was in love with in her lilac trimmed bon-
net; the man who had insulted him five
years before, and whom he had never taken
vengeance on. But in the midst of these
and many other souvenirs the present feel-
ing— the expectation of death — did not
leave him. " Perhaps it isn't going to ex-
plode !" he thought, and was on the point
of opening his eyes with desperate boldness.
But at this instant a red fire struck his eye-
balls through the closed lids, something hit
him in the middle of the chest with a terri-
10^ Sebastopol.
ble crash. He ran forward at random, en-
tangled his feet in his sword, stumbled, and
fell on his side.
" God be praised, I am only bruised."
This was his first thought, and he wanted
to feel of his breast, but his hands seemed as
if they were tied. A vice griped his head,
soldiers ran before his eyes, and he mechan-
ically counted them :
" One, two, three soldiers, and, besides, an
officer who is losinor his cloak !"
A new light flashed ; he wondered what
had fired. Was it a mortar or a cannon }
Doubtless a cannon. Another shot, more
soldiers — five, six, seven. They passed in
front of him, and suddenly he became terri-
bly afraid of being crushed by them. He
wanted to cry out, to say that he was bruised,
but his lips were dry, his tongue was glued
to the roof of his mouth. He had a burn-
ing thirst. He felt that his breast was damp,
and the sensation of this moisture made him
think of water. ... He would have liked to
drink that which drenched him.
" I must have knocked the skin off in
falling," he said to himself, more and more
frightened at the idea of being crushed by
May, 185s. los
the soldiers who were running in crowds
before him. He tried again to cry out,
" Take me ! — "
But instead of that he uttered a groan so
terrible that he was frightened at it himself.
Then red sparks danced before his eyes ;
it seemed as if the soldiers were piling
stones on him. The sparks danced more
rapidly, the stones piled on him stifled him
more and more. He stretched himself out,
he ceased to see, to hear, to think, to feel.
He had been killed instantly by a piece of
shell striking him full in the breast.
XII.
Mikhailoff also threw himself down on
seeing the shell. Like Praskoukine, he
thought of a crowd of thin^js durino: the
two seconds which preceded the explosion.
He said his prayers mentally, repeating,
" May Thy will be done ! Why, O Lord,
am I a soldier ? Why did I exchange into
the infantry to make this campaign ? Why
did I not remain in the uhlan regiment, in
the province of F , near my friend Na-
tacha ? and now see what is going to happen
to me."
ip6 Sebastopol.
He began to count — " One, two, three,
four," saying to himself that if the shell ex-
ploded on an even number he would live, if
at an odd number he would be killed.
"It is all over, I am killed !" he thought,
at the sound of the explosion, without think-
ing any more of odd or even. Struck on
the head, he felt a terrible pain.
" Lord, pardon my sins !" he murmured,
clasping his hands.
He tried to rise, and fell unconscious, face
downward. His first sensation when he
came to himself was of blood runninor from
his nose. The pain in his head was much
lessened.
" My soul is departing. What will there
be OM^x yonder ? My God, receive my soul
in peace ! It is nevertheless strange," he
reasoned, " that I am dying, and I can dis-
tinctly hear the footsteps of the soldiers and
the sound of shots !"
"A stretcher this way! The company
chief is killed !" cried a voice which he rec-
ognized, that of the drummer Ignatieff.
Some one raised him up by the shoulders;
he opened his eyes with an effort and saw
the dark-blue sky over his head, myriads of
May, i8s5' loy
stars, and two shells flying through space as
if they were racing with each other. He, saw
Ignatieff, soldiers loaded down with stretch-
ers and with muskets, the slope of the in-
trenchment, and suddenly he understood he
was still in the world.
A stone had slightly wounded him on the
head. His first impression was almost a
regret. He felt so well, so quietly prepared
to go OM^x yonder, that the return to reality,
the sight of the shells, of the trenches, and
of blood, was painful to him. The second
impression was an involuntary joy at feeling
himself alive, and the third was the desire
to leave the bastion as quickly as possible.
The drummer bandaged his chiefs head
and led him towards the field-hospital, sup-
porting him under his arm.
"Where am I going, and what for?"
thought the captain, coming to himself a
little. " My duty is to remain with my com-
pany— all the more," whispered a little voice
within him, " since it will shortly be out of
range of the enemy's fire."
" It's no use, my friend," he said to the
drummer, taking away his arm. " I won't
go to the field-hospital ; I will stay with my
company."
io8 Sebastopol.
" You had better let yourself be properly-
taken care of, your Excellency. It don't
seem to be anything at first, but it may
grow worse. Indeed, your Excellency — "
Mikhailoff stopped, undecided what to
do. He would have followed Ignatieff's ad-
vice, perhaps, but he saw what a number of
wounded men crowded the hospital, almost
all of them seriously hurt.
" Perhaps the doctor will make fun of my
scratch," he said to himself, and without lis-
tening to the drummer's arguments he went
with a firm step to join his company.
" Where is officer Praskoukine, who was
beside me a short time ago ?" he asked of
the sub-lieutenant whom he found at the
head of the company.
"I don't know; I think he was killed,"
hesitatingly replied the latter.
" Killed or wounded ? Why, don't you
know } He was marching with us. Why
didn't you bring him off?"
" It wasn't possible in that furnace."
" Oh ! why did you abandon a living
man, Mikhail Ivanitch ?" said Mikhailoff,
with a vexed tone. " If he is dead, we must
bring off his body."
May, iSsS' log
" How can he be alive ? Indeed I tell
you I went up to him, and I saw — What
would you have? We scarcely had time
to bring off our own men. Ah ! the devils,
how they are firing shell now !"
Mikhailoff sat down, and held his head
in his hands. The walk had increased the
violence of the pain.
" No," said he, "we must certainly go and
get him. Perhaps he is alive. It is our
duty, Mikhail Ivanitch."
Mikhail Ivanitch did not reply.
" He didn't think of bringing him off at
the time, and now I must detail men for it.
Why send them into this hell -fire, which
will kill them, for nothing?" thought Mi-
khailoff.
" Children, we must go back to get that
officer who is wounded yonder in the ditch,"
he said, without raising his voice, and in a
tone which had no authority, for he guessed
how disasfreeable the execution of this or-
der would be to the men.
But since he addressed himself to no one
in particular, not one of them came forward
at this call.
" Who knows ? he is dead, perhaps, and
no Sebastopol.
it isn't worth while to risk our men useless-
ly. It is my fault ; I ought to have thought
of it. I will go alone ; it is my duty. Mi-
khail Ivanitch," he added, aloud, "lead on
the company, I will overtake you."
Gathering up the folds of his cloak with
one hand, he touched the image of St. Mi-
trophanes with the other. . He wore this on
his breast as a sign of special devotion to
the blessed one.
The captain retraced his steps, assured
himself that Praskoukine was really dead,
and came back holding in his hand the
bandage which had become unwound from
his own head. The battalion was already at
the foot of the hill, and almost out of reach
of the balls, when Mikhailoff rejoined it. A
few stray shells still came in their direction.
" I must go to-morrow and be registered
in the field - hospital," said the captain to
himself while the surgeon was dressing his
wound.
XIIL
Hundreds of mutilated, freshly bleeding
bodies, which two hours before were full of
hopes and of different desires, sublime or
May, 1 8^^. Ill
humble, lay with stiffened limbs in the flow-
ery and dew -bathed valley which separated
the bastion from the intrenchment, or on
the smooth floor of the little mortuary chap-
el of Sebastopol. The dry lips of all of these
men murmured prayers, curses, or groans.
They crawled, they turned on their sides,
some were abandoned among the corpses
of the blossom-strewn valley, others lay on
stretchers, on cots, and on the damp floor
of the field -hospital. Notwithstanding all
this, the heavens shed their morning light
over Mount Saponne as on the preceding
days, the sparkling stars grew pale, a white
mist rose from the sombre and plaintively
swelling sea, the east grew purple with the
dawn, and long, flame-colored clouds stretch-
ed along the blue horizon. As on the days
before, the grand torch mounted slowly,
powerful and proud, promising joy, love, and
happiness to the awakened world.
XIV.
On the following evening the band of the
regiment of chasseurs again played on the
boulevard. Around the pavilion oflicers,
yunkers, soldiers, and young women prom-
112 Sebasiopol.
enaded with a festal air in the paths of white
flowering acacias.
Kalouguine, Prince Galtzine, and another
colonel marched arm-in-arm along the street,
talking of the affair of the day before. The
chief subject of this conversation was, as it
always is, not of the affair itself, but of the
part the talkers had taken in it. The ex-
pression of their faces, the sound of their
voices, had something serious in it, and it
might have been supposed that the losses
profoundly affected them. But, to tell the
truth, since no one among them had lost
any one dear to him, they put on this offi-
cially mournful expression for propriety's
sake. Kalouguine and the colonel, although
they were very good fellows, would have
asked nothing better than to be present at
a similar engagement every day, in order to
receive each time a sword of honor or the
rank of major-general. When I hear a con-
queror who sends to their destruction mill-
ions of men in order to satisfy his personal
ambition called a monster, I always want
to lauQ^h. Ask sub-lieutenants Petrouchef
Antonoff, and others, and you will see that
each is a little Napoleon, a monster ready
May, i8s5' nj
to engage in battle, to kill a hundred men,
in order to obtain one more little star or an
increase of pay.
" I ask pardon," said the colonel, " the af-
fair began on the left flank. / was there.''
" Perhaps so," replied Kalouguine, " for I
was almost all the time on the right flank.
I went there twice, first to seek the general,
then simply of my own accord to look on.
It was there it was hot !"
" If Kalouguine says so it is a fact," con-
tinued the colonel, turning towards Galtzine.
"Do you know that only to-day V
told me you were a brave man .? Our losses
are truly frightful. In my own regiment
four hundred men disabled ! I don't under-
stand how I came out alive."
At the other end of the boulevard they
saw Mikhailoff s bandaged head arise. He
was coming to meet them.
" Are you wounded, captain ?" asked Ka-
louguine.
" Slightly — by a stone," said Mikhailoff.
" Le pavilion est il deja amene T' said
Prince Galtzine, looking over the head of
the captain, and addressing himself to no
one in particular.
8
114 Scbastopol.
''Noil pas encore',' said Mikhailoff, very
anxious to show that he knew French.
" Does the armistice still go on ?" asked
Galtzine, addressing him politely in Rus-
sian, as if to say to the captain, " I know
you speak French with difficulty, why not
simply speak Russian ?" Upon this the
aides-de-camp went away from Mikhailoff,
who felt, as on the evening before, very lone-
some. Not wishing to come in contact with
some of them, and not making up his mind
to approach others, he limited himself to sa-
luting certain officers, and sat down near the
Kazarsky monument to smoke a cigarette.
Baron Pesth also made his appearance on
the boulevard. He related that he had tak-
en part in the negotiations of the armistice,
that he had chatted with the French officers,
and that one of them had said to him,
" If daylight had come an hour later the
ambuscades would have been retaken,"
To which he had replied,
" Sir, I don't say they would not have
been, so that I shall not contradict you,"
and his answer had filled him with pride.
In reality, although he had been present
at the conclusion of the armistice, and had
May, i8s5' nS
been very desirous of talking with the
French, he had said nothing remarkable.
The yunker simply promenaded for a long
time in front of the lines, asking the nearest
Frenchmen,
" What regiment do you belong to ?"
They answered him, and that was all. As
he advanced a little beyond the neutral zone,
a French sentinel, who did not imagine that
the Russian understood his language, flung
a formidable curse at him.
" He is coming to examine our works,
this damned — "
Indeed, after that the yunker returned
home, composing along the road the French
phrases he had just retailed to his acquaint-
ances.
Captain Zobkine was also seen on the
promenade, shouting with a loud voice ; Cap-
tain Objogoff, with his torn uniform ; the
captain of artillery, who asked no favors of
any one ; the yunker, in love — in a word, all
the personages of the day before, swayed
by the same eternal moving forces. Pras-
koukine, Neferdoff, and several others were
alone absent. Nobody thought of them.
Nevertheless, their bodies were neither
washed, nor dressed, nor buried in the earth.
ii6 Sebastopol.
XV.
White flags are flying on our fortifica-
tions and in the French intrenchments. In
the blossom-covered valley mutilated bodies,
clothed in blue or in gray, with bare feet,
lie in heaps, and the men are carrying them
off to place them in carts. The air is poi-
soned by the odor of the corpses. Crowds
of people pour out of Sebastopol and out of
the French camp to witness this spectacle.
The different sides meet each other on this
ground with eager and kindly curiosity.
Listen to the words exchanged between
them. On this side, in a small group of
French and Russians, a young officer is
examining a cartridge-box. Although he
speaks bad French, he can make himself
understood.
" And why that— that bird .?" he asks.
" Because it is the cartridge-box of a regi-
ment of the guard, sir. It is ornamented
with the imperial eagle."
" And you — you belong to the guard .?"
" Pardon, sir, to the sixth regiment of the
line."
"And this — where was this boufjht.?"
May, i8s5- 117
The officer points to the Httle wooden
mouth-piece which holds the Frenchman's
cio^arette.
" At Balaklava, sir. It is only palm-wood."
" Pretty," replies the officer, obliged to
make use of the few words he knew, and
which, nolens volens, intruded themselves
into the conversation.
" You will oblige me if you will keep that
as a souvenir of this meeting."
The Frenchman throws away his cigar-
ette, blows in the mouth-piece, and politely
presents it to the officer with a salute. The
latter gives him his in exchange. All the
French and Russian by-standers smile and
seem delighted.
Here comes a shrewd -looking infantry-
man in a red shirt, his overcoat thrown over
his shoulders. His face is full of good spir-
its and curiosity. Accompanied by two com-
rades, their hands behind their backs, he ap-
proaches and asks a Frenchman for a light.
The latter blows into his pipe, shakes it, and
offers a light to the Russian.
" Tabac bonn /" says the soldier in the red
shirt, and the by-standers smile.
" Yes, good tobacco — Turkish tobacco !"
ii8 Scbastopol.
answers the Frenchman ; " and with you
Russian tobacco good ?"
'' Rotiss bonnP'' repeats the soldier in the
red shirt, and this time the spectators burst
out laughing.
'' Fran^ais pas bonn, bonn jour, mousiotcT
continues the soldier, making a show of all
he knew in French, laughing, and tapping
on the stomach of the man who was talking
with him. The Frenchmen also laugh.
" They are not pretty, these Russian
B ," said a Zouave.
" What are they laughing at ?" asks an-
other, with an Italian accent.
''Le caftan bonuT the bold soldier begins
again, examining the embroidered uniform
of the Zouave.
" To your places, sacre nom f shouts a
French corporal at this instant.
The soldiers sulkily disperse.
Nevertheless, our young cavalry lieuten-
ant is strutting in a group of the enemy's
officers.
" I knew Count Sasonoff well," says one
of the latter. " He is one of the true Rus-
sian counts, such as we like."
" I also knew a Sasonoff," replies the cav-
May, iSs5' 119
airy officer, " but he wasn't a count, as far
as I know. He is a small, dark man about
your age."
"That's it, sir — that's he. Oh, how I
would like to see the dear count ! If you
see him, give him my regards. Captain
Latour," he adds, bowing.
" What a miserable business we are car-
rying on ! It was hot last night, wasn't it .?"
continues the cavalry officer, anxious to keep
up the conversation, and pointing to the
corpses.
" Oh, sir, it is frightful. But what fine
fellows your soldiers are! It is a pleasure
to fisht with fine fellows like that."
" It must be confessed that your fellows
are up to snuff also," replies the Russian
horseman, with a salute, satisfied that he has
given him a good answer.
But enough on this subject. Let us
watch that ten -year- old boy, with an old
worn cap on his head which doubtless be-
longed to his father, and with naked legs
and large shoes on his feet, dressed in a
pair of cotton trousers, held up by a single
brace. He came out of the fortifications at
the beginning of the truce. He has been
t20 Scbastopol.
walking about ever since on the low ground,
examining with stupid curiosity the French
soldiers and the dead bodies lying on the
ground. He is gathering the little blue
field-flowers with which the valley is strewn.
He retraces his steps with a great bouquet,
holding his nose so as not to smell the fetid
odor that comes on the wind. Stopping
near a heap of corpses, he looks a long time
at a headless, hideous, dead man. After an
examination, he goes near and touches with
his foot the arm stretched stiffly in the air.
As he presses harder on it the arm moves
and falls into place. The boy gives a cry,
hides his face in the flowers, and enters the
fortifications, running at full speed.
Yes, flags of truce float over the bastions
and on the intrenchments ; the brilliantly
shining sun is setting into the blue sea,
which ripples and sparkles under the golden
rays. Thousands of people assemble, look
at each other, chat, laugh. These people,
who are Christians, who profess to obey the
great law of love and devotion, are looking
at their work without throwing themselves
down in repentance at the knees of Him
who gave them life, and with life the fear of
May, 1855, 121
death, the love of the good and the beautiful.
They do not embrace each other like broth-
ers, and shed tears of joy and happiness !
We must at least take consolation in the
thought that we did not begin the war, that
we are only defending our country, our na-
tive land. The white flags are lowered; the
engines of death and of suffering thunder
once more ; again a flood of innocent blood
is shed, and groans and curses can be heard.
I have said what I have wanted to say for
this time at least, but a painful doubt over-
whelms me. It would have been better, per-
haps, to have kept silent, for possibly what
I have uttered is among those pernicious
truths obscurely hidden away in every one's
soul, and which, in order to remain harm-
less, must not be expressed ; just as old wine
must not be disturbed lest the sediment rise
and make the liquid turbid. Where, then,
in my tale do we see the evil we must avoid,
and the Qrood towards which we must strive
to go ? Where is the traitor ? Where is the
hero ? All are G:ood and all are bad. It is
not Kalouguine with his brilliant courage,
his gentlemanly bravado, and his vanity —
the chief motive power of all his actions ; it
122 Sebastopol.
is not PraskoLikinc, an inoffensive cipher,
although he fell on the battle-field for his
faith, his ruler, and his country ; nor timid
Mikhailoff ; nor Pesth, that child with no
conviction and no moral sense, who can pass
for traitors or for heroes.
No ; the hero of my tale, the one I love
with all the power of my soul, the one I
have tried to reproduce in all his beauty,
just as he has been, is, and always will be
beautiful, is Truth.
SEBASTOPOL IN AUGUST, 1855.
SEBASTOFOL IN AUGUST, i8s5.
I.
Towards the end of the month of Au-
gust there was slowly moving along the
stony Sebastopol road between Douvanka*
and Baktchisara'i an officer's carriage of pe-
culiar form, unknown elsewhere, which held
a middle place in construction between a
basket - wagon, a Jewish britchka, and a
Russian cart.
In this carriage a servant, dressed in linen,
with a soft and shapeless officer s cap on his
head, held the reins. Seated behind him,
on parcels and bags covered with a soldier's
overcoat, was an officer in a summer cloak,
small in stature, as well as could be judged
from the position he was in, who was less
remarkable for the massive squareness of
his shoulders than for the thickness of his
body between his chest and his back. His
neck from the nape to the shoulder was
* The last station before Sebastopol. — Trans,
126 Sebastopol.
heavy and largely developed, and the mus-
cles were firmly extended. What is com-
monly spoken of as a waist did not exist,
nor the stomach either, although he was far
from being fat ; and his face, upon which
was spread a layer of yellow and unhealthy
sunburn, was noticeable by its thinness. It
would have passed for an attractive one
if it had not been for a certain bloatino;
of the flesh and a skin furrowed by deep
wrinkles, which, interweaving, distorted the
features, took away all freshness, and gave
a brutal expression. His small, brown, ex-
traordinarily keen eyes had an almost impu-
dent look. His very thick mustache, which
he was in the habit of biting, did not extend
much in breadth. His cheeks and his chin,
which he had not shaved for two days,
were covered with a black and thick beard.
Wounded on the head by a piece of shell
on the loth of May, and still wearing a
bandage, he felt, nevertheless, entirely cured,
and left the hospital at Sympheropol to join
his regiment, posted somewhere there in the
direction where shots could be heard ; but
he had not been able to find out whether it
was at Sebastopol itself or at Severnai'a or at
Augttst, 1 8^^. 1 2 "J
Inkerman. The cannonade was distinctly
heard, and seemed very near when the hills
did not cut off the sound which was brought
by the wind. Occasionally a tremendous ex-
plosion shook the air and made you tremble
in spite of yourself. Now and then less vio-
lent noises, like a drum-beat, followed each
other at short intervals, intermingled with
a deafening rumble ; or perhaps all was con-
founded in a hubbub of prolonged rolls, like
peals of thunder at the height of a storm
when the rain begins to fall. Every one
said, and indeed it could be heard, that the
violence of the bombardment was terrible.
The officer urged his servant to hasten.
They met a line of carts driven by Russian
peasants, who had carried provisions to Se-
bastopol, and who were on their way back,
bringing sick and wounded soldiers in gray
overcoats, sailors in black pilot-coats, volun-
teers in red fez caps, and bearded militia-
men. The officer's carriage was forced to
stop, and he, grimacing and squinting his
eyes in the impenetrable and motionless
cloud of dust raised by the carts, which flew
into the eyes and ears on all sides, examined
the faces as they passed by.
128 Sebastopol.
" There is a sick soldier of our company,"
said the servant, turning towards his mas-
ter and pointing to a wounded man.
Seated sidewise on the front of his cart
a Russian peasant, wearing his whole beard,
a felt cap on his head, was tying a knot in
an enormous whip, w^hich he held by the
handle under his elbow. He turned his
back to four or five soldiers shaken and
tossed about in the vehicle. One of them,
his arm tied up, his overcoat thrown on over
his shirt, seated erect and firm, although
somewhat pale and thin, occupied the mid-
dle place. Perceiving the officer, he instinct-
ively raised his hand to his cap, but remem-
bering his wound, he made believe he want-
ed to scratch his head. Another one was
lying down beside him on the bottom of
the cart. All that could be seen of him was
his two hands clinging to the wooden bars,
and his two raised knees swinging nerve-
lessly like two hempen dish-rags. A third,
with swollen face, his head wTapped with a
cloth on which was placed his soldier's cap,
seated sidewise, his legs hanging outside and
grazing the wheel, was dozing, his hands
resting on his knees.
August, i8^^. i2g
" Doljikoff !" the traveller shouted at him.
" Present !" replied the latter, opening his
eyes and taking off his cap. His bass voice
was so full, so tremendous, that it seemed to
come out of the chest of twenty soldiers to-
gether.
" When were you wounded ?"
" Health to your Excellency!"* he cried
with his strong voice, his glassy and swollen
eyes growing animated at the sight of his
superior ofTficer.
" Where is the regiment V
"At Sebastopol, your Excellency. They
are thinking of going away from there
Wednesday."
" Where to ?"
" They don't know — to Severnai'a, no
doubt, your Excellency. At present," he
continued, dragging his words, ''he is firing
straight through everything, especially with
shells, even away into the bay. He is firing
in a frightful manner! — " And he added
words which could not be understood ; but
from his face and from his position it could
* This is the literal translation of the common phrase
used by the soldiers in reply to a greeting from their su-
perior officers. — Trans.
9
ijo Scbaslopol.
be guessed that, with a suffering man's sense
of injury, he was saying something of a not
very consoHng nature.
Sub-Heutenant Koseltzoff, who had just
asked these questions, was neither an officer
of ordinary stamp nor among the number of
those who live and act in a certain way be-
cause others hve and act thus. His nature
had been richly endowed with inferior qual-
ities. He sang and played the guitar in an
agreeable manner, he conversed well, and
wrote with facility, especially official corre-
spondence, of which he had got the trick
during his service as battalion aide-de-camp.
His energy was remarkable, but this en-
ergy only received its impulse from self-
love, and although grafted on this second-
rate capacity, it formed a salient and char-
acteristic trait of his nature. That kind of
self-love which is most commonly developed
among men, especially among military men,
was so filtered through his existence that he
did not conceive a possible choice between
" first or nothing." Self-love was then the
motive force of his most intimate enthusi-
asms. Even alone in his own presence
he was fond of considering himself supe-
August, 1855. iji
rior to tliose with whom he compared him-
self.
" Come ! I am not going to be the one to
listen to 'Moscow's'* chatter!" murmured
the sub-lieutenant, whose thoughts had been
troubled somewhat by meeting the train of
wounded ; and the soldier's words, the impor-
tance of which was increased and confirmed
at each step by the sound of the cannonade,
weighed heavily on his heart.
" They are curious fellows these ' Mos-
cows ' — Come, Nicolai'eff, forward ! you
are asleep, I think," he angrily shouted at
his servant, throwing back the lappels of
his coat.
Nicolai'eff shook the reins, made a little
encouraging sound with his lips, and the
wagon went off at a trot.
"We will stop only to feed them," said
the officer, "and then on the road — for-
ward !"
II.
Just as he entered the street of Douvan-
ka, where everything was in ruins, Sub-lieu-
* In certain regiments the officers nicknamed the sol-
diers "Moscow," half in scorn, half in kindly sport. —
Trans.
IJ2 Sebastopol.
tenant Koseltzoff was stopped by a wagon-
train of cannon-balls and shells sfoinof tow-
ards Sebastopol, which was halted in the
middle of the road.
Two infantrymen, seated in the dust on
the stones of an overthrown wall, were eat-
ing bread and watermelon.
"Are you going far, fellow-countryman.?"
said one of them, chewing his mouthful.
He was speaking to a soldier standing near
them with a small knapsack on his shoulder.
" We are going to join our company ; we
have come from the country," replied the
soldier, turning his eyes from the watermel-
on and arranging his knapsack. " For three
weeks we have been guarding the compa-
ny's hay, but now they have summoned ev-
erybody, and we don't know where our regi-
ment is to-day. They tell us that since last
week our fellows have been at Korabelnaia.
Do you know anything about it, gentlemen .?"
*' It is in the city, brother, in the city," re-
plied an old soldier of the wagon-train, busy
cutting with his pocket-knife the white meat
of an unripe melon. " We just came from
there. What a terrible business, brother !"
" What is that, gentlemen .?"
August, i8s5' ^33
" Don't you hear how he is firing now ?
No shelter anywhere ! It is frightful how
many of our men he has killed !" added the
speaker, making a gesture, and straighten-
ing up his cap.
The soldier on his travels pensively shook
his head, clacked his tongue, took his short
pipe out of its box, stirred up the half-burn-
ed tobacco with bis finger, lighted a bit of
tinder from the pipe of a comrade who was
smoking, and lifting his cap, said,
" There is no one but God, gentlemen.
We say good-by to you ;" and putting his
knapsack in place, went his way.
"Ah ! it is better worth while to wait,"
said the watermelon eater, with tone of con-
viction.
" It is all the same," murmured the sol-
dier, settling the knapsack on his back, and
worming his way between the wheels of the
halted carts.
III.
At the station for horses Koseltzoff found
a_ crowd of people, and the first figure he
perceived was the postmaster in person,
very young and very thin, quarrelling with
two officers.
IJ4 Sebastopol.
" You will not only wait twenty-four hours
but ten times twenty-four hours. Generals
wait too," he said, with the evident wish to
stir them up in a lively manner. " And I
am not going to hitch myself in, you under-
stand !"
" If this is so, if there are no horses, they
can't be given to any one. Why, then, are
they given to a servant who is carrying bag-
gage ?" shouted one of the two soldiers,
holding a glass of tea in his hand.
Although he carefully avoided using per-
sonal pronouns, it could easily be guessed
that he would have liked to say thee and
thou to his interlocutor.
" I want you to understand, Mr. Postmas-
ter," hesitatingly said the other ofificer,
" that we are not travelling for our pleas-
ure. If we have been summoned it is be-
cause we are necessary. You can be sure
I will tell the general, for it really seems
as if you have no respect for the rank of
officer."
" You spoil my work every time, and you
are in my way," rejoined his comrade, half
vexed. " Why do you talk to him about
respect ? You have to speak to him in
August, 1855. ijs
another manner. Horses !" he suddenly
shouted, " horses, this instant !"
" I wouldn't ask better than to give them
to you, but where can I get them ? I un-
derstand very well, my friend," continued
the postmaster, after a moment of silence,
and warming up by degrees as he gesticu-
lated, " but what do you want me to do ?
Let me just " — and the officers' faces at
once had a hopeful expression — " keep soul
and body together to the end of the month,
and then I won't be seen any longer. I
would rather go to the Malakoff than re-
main here, God knows ! Do what you like
— but I haven't a single wagon in good con-
dition, and for three days the horses haven't
seen a handful of hay."
At these words he disappeared. Koselt-
zoff and the two officers entered the house.
" So !" said the elder to the younger with
a calm tone, which strongly contrasted with
his recent wrath. " We are already three
months on the road. Let's wait. It is no
misfortune ; there isn't any hurry."
Koseltzoff with difficulty found in the
room of the post-house, all smoky, dirty, and
filled with officers and trunks, an empty cor-
Ij6 Sebastopol.
ner near the window. He sat down there,
and, rolling a cigarette, began to examine
faces and to listen to conversations. The
chief group was j^laced on the right of the
entrance door, around a shaky and greasy
table on which two copper tea-urns, stained
here and there with verdigris, were boiling ;
lump - sugar was strewn about in several
paper wrappings. A young officer without
a mustache, in a new Circassian coat, was
pouring water into a teapot ; four others of
about his own ao;e w^re scattered in differ-
ent corners of the room. One of them, his
head placed on a cloak which served him as
a pillow, was sleeping on a divan ; another,
standing near a table, was cutting roast mut-
ton into small mouthfuls for a one-armed
comrade. Two officers, one in an aide-de-
camp's overcoat, the other in a fine cloth
infantry overcoat, and carrying a saddle-bag,
were sitting beside the stove; and it could
be readily divined by the way they looked
at the others, by the manner the one with
the saddle-bag was smoking, that they were
not officers of the line, and that they were
very glad of it. Their manner did not be-
tray scorn but a certain satisfaction with
August, iS^^. ijy
themselves, founded partly on their relations
with the generals, and on a feeling of supe-
riority developed to such a point that they
tried to conceal it from others. There was
also in the place a doctor with fleshy lips,
and an artilleryman with a German physi-
ognomy, seated almost on the feet of the
sleeper, busily counting money. Four men-
servants, some dozing, some fumbling in the
trunks and the packets heaped up near the
door, completed the number of those pres-
ent, among whom Koseltzoff found not a
face he knew. The young officers pleased
him. He guessed at once from their appear-
ance that they had just come out of school,
and this called to his mind that his young
brother was also coming straight therefrom
to serve in one of the Sebastopol batteries.
On the other hand, the officer with the sad-
dle-bag, whom he believed he had met some-
where, altogether displeased him. He found
him to have an expression of face so antipa-
thetic and so insolent that he was going to
sit down on the large base of the stove, with
the intention of putting him in his proper
place if he happened to say anything dis-
agreeable. In his quality of brave and hon-
ijS Sebastopol.
orable officer at the front he did not like the
staff-officers, and for such he took these at
the first glance.
IV.
" It is bad luck," said one of the young
fellows, " to be so near the end and not be
able to get there. There will perhaps be a
battle to-day, even, and we will not be in it."
The sympathetic timidity of a young man
who fears to say something out of place
could be guessed from the slightly sharp
sound of his voice, and from the youthful
rosiness which spread in patches over his
fresh face.
The one-armed officer looked at him with
a smile.
" You will have time enough, believe me,"
he said.
The young officer respectfully turning
his eyes upon the thin face of the latter
suddenly lighted up by a smile, continued
to pour the tea in silence. And truly the
figure, the position of the wounded man,
and, above all, the fluttering sleeve of his
uniform, gave him that appearance of calm
indifference which seemed to reply to every-
August, i8sS' 139
thing said and done about him, " All this is
very well, but I know it all, and I could do
it if I wanted to."
" What shall we decide to do ?" asked the
young officer of his comrade with the Cir-
cassian coat, " Shall we pass the night here,
or shall we push on with our single horse ?
"Just think of it, captain," he continued,
when his companion had declined his sug-
gestion (he spoke to the one-armed man,
picking up a knife he had dropped), " since
they told us that horses could not be had at
Sebastopol at any price, we bought one out
of the common purse at Sympheropol."
" Did they skin you well ?"
" I don't know anything about it, captain.
We paid for the whole thing, horse and
wagon, ninety rubles. Is it very dear.?" he
added, addressing all who looked at him,
Koseltzoff included.
" It isn't too dear if the horse is young,"
said the latter.
" Isn't it } Nevertheless, we have been
assured it was dear. He limps a little, it is
true, but that will go off. They told us he
was very strong."
" What institution are you from ?" Kosel-
1^0 Sebastopol.
tzoff asked him, wishing to get news of his
brother.
" We belonged to the regiment of the
nobility. There are six of us who are go-
ing of our own accord to Sebastopol," re-
plied the loquacious little ofhcer, " but we
don't exactly know where our battery is.
Some say at Sebastopol, but this gentleman
says it is at Odessa."
" Wouldn't you have been able to find
out at Sympheropol .?" asked Koseltzoff.
" They didn't know anything there. Im-
agine it. They insulted one of our com-
rades who went to the government office
for information ! It was very disagreeable.
Wouldn't you like to have this cigarette,
already rolled ?" he continued, offering it to
the one-armed officer, who was looking for
his cigar-case.
The young man's enthusiasm even en-
tered into the little attentions he showered
on him.
" You have also just come from Sebasto-
pol ?" he rejoined. " Heavens, how astonish-
ing ! At Petersburg we did nothing but think
of you all, you heroes !" he added, turning to
Koseltzoff with good-fellowshijD and respect.
August, i^SS' ^4^
" What if you are obliged to go back
there ?" asked the latter.
"That's just what we are afraid of; for
after having bought the horse and what we
had to get — this coffee-pot, for example,
and a few other trifles — we are left without
a penny," he said, in a lower tone, casting
a look at his companion on the sly, "so that
we don't know how we are going to get out
of it."
" You haven't received money on the
road, then ?" Koseltzoff asked him.
"No," murmured the young man, "but
they promised to give it to us here."
" Have you the certificate ?"
" I know the certificate is the chief thing.
One of my uncles, a Senator at Moscow,
could have given it to me, but I was as-
sured I should receive it here without
fail."
" Doubtless."
" I believe it also," replied the young offi-
cer, in a tone which proved that after hav-
ing repeated the same question in thirty dif-
ferent places, and having received different
replies everywhere, he no longer believed
any one.
142 Sebastopol.
V.
" Who ordered beet soup ?" shouted the
house-keeper at this moment, a stout, slov-
enly dressed wench, about forty years old,
who was bringing in a great earthen
dish.
There was a general silence, and every
eye was turned towards the woman. One
of the officers even winked, exchanging with
his comrade a look which plainly referred to
the matron.
" But it was Koseltzoff who ordered it,"
rejoined the young officer ; " we must wake
him up. Halloo ! come and eat," he added,
approaching the sleeper and shaking him
by the shoulder.
A youth of seventeen years, with black,
lively, sparkling eyes and red cheeks, rose
with a bound, and having involuntarily push-
ed against the doctor, said, "A thousand par-
dons !" rubbing his eyes and standing in the
middle of the room.
Sub -lieutenant Koseltzoff immediately
recognized his younger brother and went
up to him.
*' Do you know me .''" he asked.
August, 1 8s 5' 143
"Oh, oh, what an astonishing thing!" cried
the younger, embracing him.
Two kisses were heard, but just as they
were about to give each other a third, as
the custom is, they hesitated a moment. It
miofht have been said that each asked him-
self why he must kiss three times.
" How glad I am to see you !" said the
elder, leading his brother outside. " Let's
chat a bit."
" Come, come ! I don't want any soup
now. Eat it up, Federson," said the youth
to his comrade.
" But you were hungry — "
" No, I don't want it now."
Once outside on the piazza, after the first
joyous outbursts of the youth, who went on
to ask his brother questions without speak-
ing to him of that which concerned himself,
the latter, profiting by a moment of silence,
asked him why he had not gone into the
guard, as they had expected him to do.
" Because I wanted to go to Sebastopol.
If everything comes out all right, I shall
gain more than if I had remained in the
guard. In that branch of the service you
have to count ten years to the rank of cola-
144 Sebastopol.
nel, while here Todtleben has gone from
Heutenant-colonel to general in two years.
And if I am killed, well, then, what's to be
done ?"
" How you do argue," said the elder broth-
er, with a smile.
"And then, that I have just told you is of
no importance. The chief reason " — and he
stopped, hesitating, smiling in his turn, and
blushing as if he were going to say some-
thing very shameful — " the chief reason is
that my conscience bothered me. I felt
scruples at living in Petersburg while men
are dying here for their country. I counted
also on being with you," he added, still more
bashfully.
" You are a curious fellow," said the broth-
er, without looking at him, hunting for his
cigar-case. " I am sorry wt. can't stay to-
gether."
" Come, pray tell me the truth about the
bastions. Are they horribly frightful ?"
" Yes, at first ; then one gets used to it.
You will see."
" Tell me also, please, do you think Se-
bastopol will be taken t It seems to me
that such a thing cannot happen."
August, iSs5' 146
" God only knows !"
" Oh, if you only knew how annoyed I am !
Imagine my misfortune. On the road I
have been robbed of different things, among
others my helmet, and I am in a fearful po-
sition. What will I do when I am present-
ed to my chief V
Vladimir Koseltzoff, the 3'ounger, looked
very much like his brother Michael, at least
as much as a half -open columbine can
resemble one which has lost its flower.
He had similar blond hair, but thicker, and
curled around the temples ; while one long
lock strayed down the white and delicate
back of his neck ; a sign of happiness, as
the old women say. Rich young blood sud-
denly tinged his habitually dull complexion
at each impression of his soul ; a veil of
moisture often swept over his eyes, which
were like his brother's, but more open and
more limpid ; a fine blond down began to
show on his cheeks and on his upper lip,
which, purplish red in color, often extended
in a timid smile, exposing teeth of dazzling
whiteness. As he stood there in his un-
buttoned coat, under which could be seen a
red shirt with Russian collar; slender, broad-
10
/./<^ Sebastopol.
shouldered, a cigarette between his fingers,
leaning against the balustrade of the piazza,
his face lighted up by unaffected joy, his
eyes fixed on his brother, he was really the
most charming and most sympathetic youth
possible to see, and one looked away from
him reluctantly. Frankly happy to find his
brother, whom he considered with pride and
respect as a hero, he was, nevertheless, a little
ashamed of him on account of his own more
cultivated education, of his acquaintance
with French, of his association with people
in high places, and finding himself superior
to him, he hoped to succeed in civilizing him.
His impressions, his judgments, were formed
at Petersburg^ under the influence of a wom-
an who, having a weakness for pretty faces,
made him pass his holidays in her house.
Moscow had also contributed its part, for
he had danced there at a great ball at the
house of his uncle the Senator.
VI.
After having chatted so long as to prove,
what often happens, that, while loving each
other very much, they had few common in-
August, J'^SS- ^47
terests, the brothers were silent for a mo-
ment or two.
" Come, get your traps and we'll go," said
the elder.
The younger blushed and was confused.
" Straight away to Sebastopol ?" he ask-
ed, at length.
. " Of course. I don't believe you have
many things with you ; we will find a place
for them."
"All right, we'll go," replied the younger,
as he went into the house sighing.
Just as he was opening the door of the
hall he stopped and held down his head.
" Go straight to Sebastopol," he said to
himself, " be exposed to shells — it is terrible !
However, isn't it all the same whether it is
to-day or later ? At least with my brother — "
To tell the truth, at the thought that the
carriage would carry him as far as Sebasto-
pol in a single trip, that no new incident
would delay him longer on the road, he be-
gan to appreciate the danger he had come
to meet, and the proximity of it profoundly
moved him. Having succeeded in calming
himself at last, he rejoined his comrades, and
remained such a long time with them that
/-/c? Sebastopol.
his brother, out of patience, opened the door
to call him, and saw him standing before the
officer, who was scolding him like a school-
boy. At the sight of his brother his coun-
tenance fell.
" I'll come at once," he shouted, making
a gesture with his hand ; " wait for me, I'm
coming!"
A moment later he went to find him.
" Just think," he said, with a deep sigh," I
can't go off with you."
" Stuff and nonsense ! Why not T
" I am going to tell you the truth, Micha.
We haven't a penny ; on the other hand,
we owe money to that captain. It is horri-
bly shameful !"
The elder brother scowled and kept silent.
"Do you owe much.?" he asked at last,
without looking at him.
" No, not much ; but it worries me awfully.
He paid three posts for me. I used his sugar,
and then we played the game of preference,
and I owe him a trifle on that."
" That's bad, Volodia ! What would you
have done if you hadn't met me V said the
elder, in a stern tone, never looking at him.
" But you know I count on receiving my
A HO MS t, iSjS' H9
travelling expenses at Sebastopol, and then
I shall pay him. That can still be done ;
and so I had rather go there with him to-
morrow."
At this moment the elder brother took a
purse out of his pocket, from which his trem-
bling finQ:ers drew two notes of ten rubles
each and one of three.
" Here's all I have," said he. " How much
do you want .?" He exaggerated a little in
saying that it was all his fortune, for he still
had four gold-pieces sewn in the seams of
his uniform, but he had promised himself
not to touch them.
It was found, on adding up, that Koseltzoff
owed only eight rubles — the loss on the game
and the suf^ar toQ:ether. The elder brother
gave them to him, making the remark that
one never ought to play when he had not
the wherewithal to pay. The younger said
nothing; for his brother's remark seemed
to throw a doubt on his honesty. Irritated,
ashamed of having done something which
could lead to suspicions or reflections on
his character on the part of his brother, of
whom he was fond, his sensitive nature was
so violently agitated by it that, feeling it im-
1^0 Sebastopol.
possible to stifle the sobs which choked him,
he took the note without a word and car-
ried it to his comrade.
VII.
Nikolai'eff, after refreshing himself at
Douvanka with two glasses of brandy which
he bought from a soldier who was selling it
on the bridge, shook the reins, and the car-
riage jolted over the stony road w^hich, with
spots of shadow at rare intervals, led along
Belbek to Sebastopol ; while the brothers,
seated side by side, their legs knocking to-
gether, kept an obstinate silence, each think-
ing about the other.
" Why did he offend mq .?" thought the
younger. " Does he really take me for a
thief .-^ He seems to be still angry. Here
we have quarrelled for good, and yet w^e
two, how happy w^e could have been at Se-
bastopol ! Two brothers, intimate friends,
and both fighting the enemy — the elder
lacking cultivation a little, but a brave sol-
dier, and the younger as brave as he, for at
the end of a week I shall have proved to all
that I am no longer so young. I sha'n't
blush any more ; my face will be manly and
Augtist, iS^^, i^i
my mustache will have time to grow so far,''
he thought, pinching the down which was
visible at the corners of his mouth. " Per-
haps we will get there to-day, even, and will
take part in a battle. My brother must be
very headstrong and very brave ; he is one
of those who talk little and do better than
others. Is he continually pushing me on
purpose towards the side of the carriage.'*
He must see that it annoys me, and he
makes believe he does not notice it. We will
surely get there to-day," he continued to him-
self, keeping close to the side of the carriage,
fearing if he stirred that he would show his
brother he was not well seated. " We go
straight to the bastion — I with the artillery,
my brother with his company. Suddenly
the French throw themselves upon us. I
fire on the spot, I kill a crowd of them, but
they run just the same straight upon me.
Impossible to fire — I am lost ! but my
brother dashes forward, sword in hand. I
seize my musket and we run together ; the
soldiers follow us. The French throw^ them-
selves on my brother. I run up ; I kill first
one, then another, and I save Micha. I am
wounded in the arm ; I take my musket in
1^2 Sebastopol.
the other hand and run on. My brother is
killed at my side by a bullet ; I stop a mo-
ment, I look at him sadly, I rise and cry,
• Forward with me ! let us avenge him !' I
add, ' I loved my brother above everything;
I have lost him. Let us avenge ourselves,
kill our enemies, or all die together!' All
follow me, shouting. But there is the whole
French army, Pelissier at their head. We
kill all of them, but I am w^ounded once,
twice, and the third time mortally. They
gather around me. Gortschakoff comes and
asks what I wish for. I reply that I wish
for nothing — I wish for only one thing, to
be placed beside my brother and to die with
him. They carry me and lay me down be-
side his bloody corpse. I raise myself up
and say, ' Yes, you could not appreciate
two men who sincerely loved their country.
They are killed — may God pardon you !'
and thereupon I die."
Who could tell to what point these dreams
were destined to be realized }
" Have you ever been in a hand-to-hand
fight ?" he suddenly asked his brother, en-
tirely forgetting that he did not want to
speak to him again.
August, i8sS' 153
'* No, never. We have lost two thousand
men in our regiment, but always in the
works. I also was wounded there. War is
not carried on as you imagine, Volodia."
This familiar name softened the younger.
He wished to explain himself to his brother,
who did not imagine he had offended him.
" Are you angry with me, Micha T' he
asked, after a few moments.
" Why ?"
-" Because — nothing. I thought there had
been between us — "
" Not at all," rejoined the elder, turning
towards him and giving him a friendly tap
on the knee.
" I ask pardon, Micha, if I have offended
you," said the younger, turning aside to hide
the tears which filled his eyes.
VIII.
" Is this really Sebastopol ?" asked Volo-
dia, when they had reached the top of the
hill.
Before them appeared the bay with its
forest of masts, the sea, with the hostile
fleet in the distance, the white shore batte-
ries, the barracks, the aqueducts, the docks.
I ^4 Sebastopol.
the buildings of the city. Clouds of white
and pale lilac-colored smoke continually rose
over the yellow hills that surrounded the
city, and came out sharp against the clear
blue sky, lighted by the rosy rays, brilliant-
ly reflected by the waves ; while at the hori-
zon the sun was setting into the sombre
sea.
It was without the least thrill of horror
that Volodia looked upon this terrible place
he had thought so much about. He expe-
rienced, on the contrary, an aesthetic joy, a
feeling of heroic satisfaction at thinking that
in half an hour he would be there himself,
and it was with profound attention that he
looked uninterruptedly, up to the very mo-
ment they arrived at Severnaia, at this pict-
ure of such original charm. There was
the baggage of his brother's regiment, and
there also he had to find out where his own
regiment and his battery was.
The officer of the w^agon-train lived near
to what they called the new little town, com-
posed of board shanties built by sailors'
families. In a tent adjoining a shed of con-
siderable size, made of leafy oak branches
which had not yet time to wdther, the broth-
August, i8sS' 155
ers found the officer sitting down in a shirt
of dirty yellow color before a rather slovenly
table, on which a cup of tea was cooling be-
side a plate and a decanter of brandy. A
few crumbs of bread and of caviare had fallen
here and there. He was carefully counting
a package of notes. But before bringing
him on the stage, we must necessarily ex-
amine closer the interior of his camp, his
duties, and his mode of life. The new hut
was large, solid, and conveniently built, pro-
vided with turf tables and seats, the same as
they build for the generals ; and in order to
keep the leaves from falling, three rugs, in
bad taste, although new, but probably very
dear, were stretched on the walls and the
ceiling of the building. On the iron bed
placed under the principal rug, which repre-
sented the everlasting amazon, could be seen
a red coverlid of shaggy stuff, a soiled torn
pillow, and a cloak of cat-skin. On a table
were, helter-skelter, a mirror in a silver frame,
a brush of the same metal in a frightfully
dirty state, a candlestick, a broken horn comb
full of greasy hair, a bottle of liquor orna-
mented by an enormous red and gold label,
a gold watch with the portrait of Peter the
I S^ Sebastopol.
Great, gilt pen-holders, boxes holding per-
cussion-caps, a crust of bread, old cards
thrown about in disorder, and finally, under
the bed, bottles, some empty, others full. It
was the duty of this officer to look out for
the wagon -train and the forage for the
horses. One of his friends, occupied with
financial work, shared his dwelling, and was
asleep in the tent at this moment, while he
was making out the monthly accounts with
Government money. He had an agreeable
and martial appearance. He was distin-
guished by his great size, a large mustache,
and a fair state of corpulence. But there
were two unpleasant things in him which met
the eye at once. First, a constant perspira-
tion on his face, joined with a puffiness which
almost hid his little gray eyes and gave him
the look of a leather bottle full of porter,
and, second, extreme slovenliness, which
reached from his thin gray hair to his great
naked feet, shod in ermine-trimmed slippers.
" What a lot of money! — heavens, what a
lot of money!" said Koseltzoff the first, who,
on entering, cast a hungry look on the notes.
" If you would lend me half, Vassili Mikhai-
lovitch !"
August, 1 855. 157
The officer of the wagon-train looked sour
at the sight of the visitors, and gathering
up the money, saluted them without rising.
" Oh, if it were mine, but it is money be-
loneinof to the Crown, brother ! But whom
have you there ?"
He looked at Volodia while he piled up
the papers and put them in an open chest
beside him.
" It is my brother just out of school. We
come to ask where the regiment is."
" Sit down, gentlemen," he said, rising to
go into the tent. " Can I offer you a little
porter ?"
" I agree to porter, Vassili Mikhailovitch."
Volodia, on whom a profound impression
was produced by the grand airs of the offi-
cer, as well as by his carelessness and by
the respect his brother showed him, said to
himself timidly, sitting on the edge of the
lounge, " This officer, whom everybody re-
spects, is doubtless a good fellow, hospitable,
and probably very brave."
" Where is our regiment, then T asked
the elder brother from the officer, who had
disappeared in the tent.
"What do you say.?" shouted the latter.
i^S Sebastopol.
The other repeated his question.
" I saw Seifer to-day," he replied; " he told
me it was in the fifth bastion."
" Is it, sure ?"
" If I say so it is sure. However, devil
take him ! he lies cheaply enough ! Say,"
he added, " will you have some porter ?"
" I would gladly take a drink," replied Ko-
seltzoff.
"And you, Ossip Ignatievitch," continued
the same voice in the tent, addressing the
sleeping commissary, " will you have a drink }
You have slept enough ; it is almost five
o'clock."
" Enough of that old joke. You see well
enough that I am not asleep," replied a shrill
and lazy voice.
" Get up, then, for I am tired of it," and
the ofificer rejoined his guests. " Give us
some Sympheropol porter !" he shouted to
his servant.
The latter, pushing against Volodia proud-
ly, as it appeared to the young man, pulled
out from under the bench a bottle of the
porter called for.
The bottle had been empty some time,
but the conversation was still going on, when
August, 1 8^^, I ^g
the flap of the tent was put aside to let pass
a small man in a blue dressing-gown with
cord and tassel, and a cap trimmed with
red braid and ornamented with a cockade.
With lowered eyes, and twisting his black
mustache, he only replied to the officer's sa-
lute by an imperceptible movement of the
shoulders.
" Give me a glass," he said, sitting down
near the table. " Surely you have just come
from Petersburg, young man ?" he said, ad-
dressing Volodia with an amiable air.
" Yes, and I am going to Sebastopol."
" Of your own accord V
" Yes."
" Why in the devil are 3^ou going, then .?
Gentlemen, really I don't understand that,"
continued the commissary. " It seems to
me, if I could, I would go back to Peters-
burg on foot. I have had my bellyful of
this cursed existence."
" But what are you grumbling at V asked
the elder Koseltzoff. " You are leadino: a
very enviable life here."
The commissary, surprised, cast a look at
him, turned around, and addressing Volo-
dia, said, " This constant danger, these pri-
i6o Sebastopol.
vatlons, for it Is impossible to get anytliing —
all that is terrible. I really cannot under-
stand you, gentlemen. If you only got some
advantage out of it ! But is it agreeable, I
ask you, to become at your age good-for-
nothing for the rest of your days ?"
" Some try to make money, some serve for
honor," replied Koseltzoff the elder, vexed.
" What is honor when there is nothinaf
to eat V rejoined the commissary, with a dis-
dainful smile, turning towards the officer of
the wagon -train, who followed his example.
" Wind up the music-box," he said, pointing
to a box. " We'll hear ' Lucia ;' I like that."
" Is this Vassili Mikhailovitch a brave
man," Volodia asked his brother, when, twi-
light having fallen, they rolled again along
the Sebastopol road.
" Neither good nor bad, but a terribly mi-
serly fellow. As to the commissary, I can't
bear to see even his picture. I shall knock
him down some day."
IX.
When they arrived, at nightfall, at the
great bridge over the bay, Volodia was not
exactly in bad humor, but a terrible weight
Atigust, 185^. 161
lay on his heart. Everything he saw, every-
thing he heard, harmonized so Httle with the
last impressions that had been left in his
mind by the great, light examination -hall
with polished floor, the voices of his com-
rades and the gayety of their sympathetic
bursts of laughter, his new uniform, the well-
beloved Czar, whom he was accustomed to
see during seven years, and who, taking
leave of them with tears in his eyes, had
called them "his children" — yes, everything
he saw little harmonized with his rich dreams
sparkling from a thousand facets.
" Here we are !" said his brother, getting
out of the carriage in front of the M
battery. " If they let us cross the bridge
we will go straight to the Nicholas bar-
racks. You will stop there until to-morrow
morning. As for me, I shall go back to my
regiment to find out where the battery is,
and to-morrow I will go and hunt you up."
" Why do that ? rather let's go together,"
said Volodia. " I will go to the bastion
with you ; won't that be the same thing ?
One must get accustomed to it. If you go
there, why can't I go V
" You would do better not to go."
II
i62 Sebastopol.
" Let me go— pleas'e do. At least I will
see what it is — "
" I advise you not to go there ; but, never-
theless—"
The cloudless sky was sombre, the stars,
and the flashes of the cannon, and the bombs
flying in space, shone in the darkness. The
tete dtL pout and the great white pile of the
battery came out sharply in the dark night.
Every instant reports, explosions, shook the
air, together or separately, ever louder, ever
more distinct. The mournful murmur of
the waves played an accompaniment to this
incessant roll. A fresh breeze filled with
moisture blew from the sea. The brothers
approached the bridge. A soldier awkward-
ly shouldered arms and shouted,
" Who comes there .?"
" A soldier."
" You can't pass."
" Impossible — we must pass !"
" Ask the officer."
The officer was taking a nap, seated on
an anchor. He arose and gave the order
to let them pass.
" You can go in, but you can't come out.
Attention ! Where are you getting to all
August, i^SS' ^^3
together ?" he shouted to the wagons piled
up with gabions, which were stopping at the
entrance to the bridge.
On the first pontoon they met some sol-
diers talking in a loud voice.
" He has received his outfit ; he has re-
ceived it all."
"Ah ! friends," said another voice, "when
a fellow gets to Severnaia he begins to re-
vive. There is quite another air here, by
heavens !"
" What nonsense are you talking there ?"
said the first. " The other day a cursed
bomb -shell carried away the legs of two
sailors. Oh! oh!"
The water in several places was dashing
into the second pontoon, where the two
brothers stopped to await their carriage.
The wind, which had appeared light on
land, blew here with violence and in gusts.
The bridge swayed, and the waves, madly
dashing against the beams, broke upon the
anchors and the ropes and flooded the floor-
ing. The sea roared with a hollow sound,
forming a black, uniform, endless line, which
separated it from the starry horizon, now
lighted by a silvery glow. In the distance
164 Sebastopol.
twinkled the lights of the hostile fleet. On
the left rose the dark mass of a sailing ship,
against the sides of which the water dashed
violently; on the right, a steamer coming
from Severnai'a, noisily and swiftly advanced.
A bomb -shell burst, and lighted up for a
second the heaps of gabions, revealing two
men standing on the deck of the ship, a
third in shirt-sleeves, sittins^ with swinofino-
legs, busy repairing the deck, and showing
the white foam and the dashinq: waves with
green reflections made by the steamer in
motion.
The same lights continued to furrow the
sky over Sebastopol, and the fear-inspiring
sounds came nearer. A wave driven from
the sea broke into foam on the right side
of the bridge and wet Volodia's feet. Two
soldiers, noisily dragging their legs through
the water, passed by. Suddenly something
burst with a crash and lighted up before
them the part of the bridge along which
was passing a carriage, followed by a sol-
dier on horseback. The pieces fell whist-
ling into the water, which spouted up in
jets.
"Ah, Mikhail Semenovitch !" said the
horseman, drawing up before Koseltzoff the
elder, " here you are — well again ?"
" Yes, as you see. Where in God's name
are you going ?"
" To Severnaia for cartridges. They send
me in place of the aide-de-camp of the regi-
ment. They are expecting an assault every
moment."
"And Martzeff, where s he.?"
" He lost a leg yesterday in the city, in
his room. He w^as asleep. You know him,
perhaps."
" The regiment is in the fifth, isn't it ?"
"Yes; it relieved the M . Stop at
the field -hospital, you will find our fellows
there ; they wdll show you the way."
" Have my quarters in the Morskai'a been
kept r
"Ah, brother, the shells destroyed them
long since ! You wouldn't recognize Sebas-
topol any longer. There isn't a soul there ;
neither women, nor band, nor eating-house.
The last cafe closed yesterday. It is now
so dismal ! Good-by !" and the officer went
away on the trot.
A terrible fear suddenly seized Volodia.
It seemed to him that a shell was going to
i66 Sebastopol.
fall on him, and that a piece would surely
strike him on the head. The moist dark-
ness, the sinister sounds, the constant noise
of the wrathful waves, all seemed to urge
him to take not another step, and to tell him
that no good awaited him there ; that his
foot would never touch the solid earth on
the other side of the bay ; that he would do
well to turn back, to flee as quickly as pos-
sible this terrible place where death reigns.
" Who knows t Perhaps it is too late. My
lot is fixed." He said this to himself, trem-
bling at the thought, and also on account
of the water which was runnins: into his
boots. He sighed deeply, and kept away
from his brother a little.
"My God! shall I really be killed— I .?
Oh, my God, have mercy on me !" he mur-
mured, making the sign of the cross.
" Now we will push on, Volodia," said his
companion, when their carriage had rejoined
them. " Did you see the shell T
Farther on they met more wagons car-
rying wounded men and gabions. One of
them, filled with furniture, was driven by a
woman. On the other side no one stopped
their passage.
A 71 gust, 1855. iSy
Instinctively hugging the wall of the Nich-
olas battery the two brothers silently went
alone it, with ears attentive to the noise of
the shells which exploded over their heads
and to the roar of the pieces thrown down
from above ; and at last they reached the
part of the battery w^here the holy image
was placed. There they learned that the
Fifth Light Artillery Regiment, which Vo-
lodia was to join, was at Korabelnai'a. They
consequently made up their minds in spite
of the danger to go and sleep in the fifth
bastion, and to go from there to their bat-
tery on the next day. Passing through the
narrow passage, stepping over the soldiers
who were sleeping along the wall, they at
last reached the hospital.
X.
Entering the first room, filled with beds
on which the wounded were lying, they were
struck by the heavy and nauseating odor
which is peculiar to hospitals. Two Sis-
ters of Charity came to meet them. One
of them, about fifty years old, had a stern
face ; she held in her hands a bundle of
bandaorcs and lint, and was Sfivinsf orders to
i68 SebastopoL
a very young assistant-surgeon who was fol-
lowing her. The other, a pretty girl of
twenty, had a blond, pale, and delicate face.
She appeared particularly gentle and timid
under her little white cap ; she followed her
companion with her hands in her apron-
pockets, and it could be seen that she was
afraid of stopping behind. Koseltzoff asked
them to show him Martzeff, who had lost a
leg the day before.
" Of the P regiment T asked the el-
der of the two sisters. "Are you a rela-
tive ?"
" No, a comrade."
" Show them the way," she said In French
to the younger sister, and left them, accom-
panied by the assistant-surgeon, to go to a
wounded man.
" Come, come, what are you looking like
that for.'^" said Koseltzoff to Volodia, who
had stopped with raised eyebrows, and whose
eyes, full of painful sympathy, could not
leave the wounded, whom he watched with-
out ceasing, at the same time following his
brother, and repeating, in spite of himself,
" Oh, my God ! my God !"
" He has just come in, has he not i*" the
August, i^SS- ^^9
young sister asked Koseltzoff, pointing to
Volodia.
" Yes, he has just come."
She looked at him again and burst into
tears, despairingly repeating, " My God ! my
God ! when will it end ?"
They entered the officers' room. Mar-
tzeff was there, lying on his back, his muscu-
lar arms bare to the elbow and held under
his head. The expression on his yellow vis-
age was that of a man who shuts his teeth
tightly so as not to cry out with pain. His
well leg, with a stocking on, stuck out from
under the coverlid, and the toes worked con-
vulsively.
" Well, how do you feel V asked the young
sister, raising" the wounded man's hot head
and arranging his pillow with her thin fin-
gers, on one of which Volodia espied a gold
ring. " Here are your comrades come to
see you."
" I am suffering, you know," he replied,
with an irritated air. " Don't touch me ; it
is well as it is," and the toes in the stocking
moved with a nervous action. " How do
you do ? What's your name ? Ah, par-
don !" when Koseltzoff had told his name.
lyo Sebastopol.
*' Here everything is forgotten. Neverthe-
less we lived together," he added, without
expressing the least joy, and looking at Vo-
lodia with a questioning air.
" It is my brother; he has just come from
Petersburg."
'* Ah ! and I have done with it, I believe.
Heavens, how I am suffering ! If that would
only stop quicker !"
He pulled his leg in with a convulsive
movement. His toes worked with double
restlessness. He covered his face with both
hands.
" He must be left in quiet ; he is very ill,"
the sister whispered to them. Her eyes
were full of tears.
The brothers, who had decided to go to
the fifth bastion, changed their minds on
coming out of the hospital, and concluded,
without telling each other the true reason,
to separate, in order to not expose them-
selves to useless danger.
" Will you find your way, Volodia ?" asked
the elder. " However, NikolaVeff will lead
you to Korabelnaia. Now I am going alone,
and to-morrow I will be with you."
That was all they said in this last interview.
August, i8^§. lyi
XL
The cannon roared with the same vio-
lence, but Ekatherinenskaia Street, through
which Volodia went, accompanied by Niko-
laieff, was empty and quiet. He could see in
the darkness only the white walls standing
in the midst of the great overthrown houses,
and the stones of the sidewalk he was on.
Sometimes he met soldiers and officers, and
going along the left side, near the Admi-
ralty, he noticed, by the bright light of a
fire which burned behind a fence, a row of
dark -leaved acacias, covered with dust, re-
cently planted along the sidewalk and held
up by green painted stakes. His steps and
those of Nikolaieff, who was loudly breath-
insf, resounded alone in the silence. His
thoughts were vague. The pretty Sister of
Charity, Martzeff's leg, with his toes mov-
ing convulsively in his stocking, the dark-
ness, the shells, the different pictures of
death, passed confusedly in his memory.
His young and impressionable soul was ir-
ritated and wounded by his isolation, by the
complete indifference of every one to his
lot, althougli he was exposed to danger.
1^2 Scbastopol.
" I shall suffer, I shall be killed, and no
one will mourn me," he said to himself.
Where, then, was the life of the hero full of
the energetic ardor and of the sympathies
he had so often dreamed of? The shells
shrieked and burst nearer and nearer, and
Nikolai'eff sighed oftener without speaking.
In crossing the bridge which led to Kora-
belna'ia he saw something two steps off
plunge whistling into the gulf, illuminating
for a second with a purple light the violet-
tinted waves, and then bound off, throwing
a shower of water into the air.
"Curse it! the villain is still alive," mur-
mured Nikolaieff.
" Yes," answered Volodia, in spite of him-
self, and surprised at the sound of his own
voice, so shrill and harsh.
They now met wounded men carried on
stretchers, carts filled with gabions, a regi-
ment, men on horseback. One of the latter,
an officer followed by a Cossack, stopped at
the sight of Volodia, examined his face, then,
turning away, hit his horse with his whip
and continued on his way. " Alone, alone !
whether I am alive or not, it is the same
to all !" said the youth to himself, ready to
August, i8§^. lyj
burst into tears. Having passed a great
white wall, he entered a street bordered
with little, quite ruined houses, continually
lighted up by the flash of the shells. A
drunken woman in rags, followed by a sail-
or, came out of a small door and stumbled
against him. " I beg pardon, your Excel-
lency," she murmured. The poor boy's
heart was more and more oppressed, while
the flashes continually lit up the black hori-
zon and the shells whistled and burst about
him. Suddenly Nikolaieff sighed, and spoke
w^ith a voice which seemed to Volodia to
express a restrained terror.
"It was well worth while to hurry from
home to come here ! We went on and went
on, and what was the use of hurrying .?"
" But, thank the Lord ! my brother is
cured," said Volodia, in order by talking to
drive away the horrible feeling which had
got possession of him.
" Finely cured, when he is in a bad way
altoQ:ether ! The well ones would find them-
selves much better off in the hospital in
times like these. Do we, perchance, take
any pleasure in being here .'* Now an arm
is lost, now a leg, and then — And yet it 13
i'/4 Sebastopol.
better here in the city than in the bastion,
Lord God ! On the way a man has to say all
his prayers. Ah, scoundrel ! it just hummed
in my cars," he added, listening to the sound
of a piece of shell which had passed close
to him. " Now," continued Nikolaieff, " I
was told to lead your Excellency, and I know
I must do what I am ordered to, but our
carriage is in the care of a comrade, and the
bundles are undone. I was told to come,
and I have come. But if any one of the
things we have brought is lost, it is I, Niko-
laieff, who answers for it."
A few steps farther on they came out on
an open space.
" Here is your artillery, your Excellency,"
he suddenly said. "Ask the sentinel, he
will show you."
Volodia went forward alone. No longer
hearing behind him Nikolaieff's sighs, he
felt himself abandoned for good and all.
The feeling of this desertion in the presence
of danger, of death, as he believed, oppressed
his heart with the glacial weight of a stone.
Halting in the middle of the place, he looked
aJl about him to see if he was observed, and
taking his head in both hands, he mur-
August, 185^. I'/S
mured, with a voice broken by terror, " My
God ! am I really a despicable poltroon, a
coward ? I who have lately dreamed of dy-
ing for my country, for my Czar, and that
with joy ! Yes, I am an unfortunate and
despicable being !" he cried, in profound de-
spair, and quite undeceived about himself.
Having finally overcome his emotion, he
asked the sentinel to show him the house
of the commander of the battery.
XII.
The commander of the battery lived in
a little two -story house. It was entered
through a court-yard. In one of the win-
dows, in which a pane was missing and was
replaced by a sheet of paper, shone the fee-
ble lisht of a candle. The servant, seated
in the door-way, was smoking his pipe. Hav-
ing announced Volodia to his master, he
showed him into his room. There, between
two windows, beside a broken mirror, was
seen a table loaded with official papers, sev-
eral chairs, an iron bed with clean linen and
a rue: before it. Near the door stood the
sergeant-major, a fine man, with a splendid
pair of mustaches, his sword in its belt. On
1^6 SebastopoL
his coat sparkled a cross and the medal of
the Hungary campaign. The staff-officer,
small in stature, with a swollen and ban-
daged cheek, walked up and down, dressed
in a frock-coat of fine cloth which bore
marks of long wear. He was decidedly cor-
pulent, and appeared about forty years old.
A bald spot was clearly marked on the top
of his head ; his thick mustache, hanging
straight down, hid his mouth ; his brown
eyes had an agreeable expression ; his
hands were fine, white, a little fat ; his feet,
very much turned out, were put down with
a certain assurance and a certain affectation
which proved that bashfulness was not the
weak side of the commander.
"I have the honor to present myself. I
am attached to the Fifth Light Battery —
Koseltzoff, the second-ensign," said Volodia,
who, entering the room, recited in one breath
this lesson learned by heart.
The commander of the battery replied by
a somewhat dry salute, and without offer-
ing him his hand begged him to be seated.
Volodia then sat down timidly near the writ-
ing-table, and in his distraction getting hold
of a pair of scissors, began to play with them
August, i8^^. //7
mechanically. With hands behind his back
and with bowed head, the commander of the
battery continued his promenade in silence,
casting his eyes from time to time on the
fingers which continued to juggle with the
scissors.
" Yes," he said, stopping at last in front
of the sergeant-major, "from to-morrow on
we must give another measure of oats to
the caisson horses ; they are thin. What
do you think of it T
"Why not.-^ It can be done, your High
Excellency ; oats are now cheaper," replied
the sergeant-major, his arms stuck to the
side of his body and his fingers stirring — an
habitual movement with which he usually
accompanied his conversation.
" Then there is the forage-master, Frant-
zone, who wrote me a line yesterday, your
High Excellency. He said we must buy
axle - trees without fail ; they are cheap.
What are your orders T'
" Well, they must be bought ; there is
money," answered the commander, continu-
ing to walk. " Where are your traps T he
suddenly said, pausing before Volodia.
Poor Volodia, pursued by the thought
12
i'/8 Sebastopol.
that he was a coward, saw in each look, in
each word, the scorn he must inspire; and
it seemed to him that his chief had ah-eady
discovered his sad secret, and tliat he was
jeering at him. Then he replied in confu-
sion that his things were at Grafskaia, and
that his brother would send them to him
the following day.
" Where shall we put up the ensign .?" the
lieutenant-colonel asked the sergeant-major,
without listening to the young man's an-
swer.
" The ensign ?" repeated the sergeant-
major. A rapid glance thrown on Volodia,
and which seemed to say, " What sort of an
ensign is that .?" finished the disconcerting
of the latter. " Down there, your Excel-
lency, with the second-captain. Since the
captain is in the bastion his bed is empty !"
" Will that do for you while you are wait-
ing ?" asked the commander of the battery.
" You must be tired, I think. To-morrow
it can be more conveniently arranged for
you.
Volodia arose and saluted.
" Will you have some tea .?" added his su-
perior officer. " The samovar can be heated."
A 71 gust, 185 s. lyg
Volodia, who had already reached the
door, turned around, saluted again, and went
out.
The lieutenant-colonel's servant conduct-
ed him down-stairs, and showed him into a
bare and dirty room where different broken
things were thrown aside as rubbish, and in
which, in a corner, a man in a red shirt,
whom Volodia took for a soldier, was sleep-
ing on an iron bed without sheets or cov-
erlid, wrapped in his overcoat.
" Peter Nikolaievitch " — and the servant
touched the sleeper's shoulder — "get up;
the ensign is going to sleep here. It's
Viang, our yunker," he added, turning to
Volodia.
" Oh, don't disturb yourself, I beg," cried
the latter, seeing the yunker, a tall and ro-
bust young man, with a fine face, but one
entirely devoid of intelligence, rise, throw
his overcoat over his shoulders, and drowsi-
ly go away, murmuring, " That's nothing; I
will go and sleep in the yard."
XIII.
Left alone with his thoughts, Volodia at
first felt a return of the terror caused by the
i8o Sebastopol.
trouble which amtatcd his soul. Countinor
upon sleep to be able to cease thinking of
his surroundings and to forget himself, he
blew out his candle and lay down, covering
himself all up with his overcoat, even his
head, for he had kept his fear of darkness
since his childhood. But suddenly the idea
came to him that a shell mioht fall throuQ-h
the roof and kill him. He listened. The
commander of the battery was walking up
and down over his head.
" It will begin by killing him first," he
said to himself, " then me. I shall not die
alone !" This reflection calmed him, and
he was going to sleep when this time the
thought that Sebastopol might be taken
that very night, that the French might
burst in his door, and that he had no weap-
on to defend himself , completely waked him
up again. He rose and walked the room.
The fear of the real danger had stifled the
mysterious terror of darkness. He hunted
and found to hand only a saddle and a
samovar. " I am a coward, a poltroon, a
wretch," he thought again, filled with disgust
and scorn of himself. He lay down and
tried to stop thinking ; but then the im-
August, 185^. 181
pressions of the day passed again through
his mind, and the continual sounds which
shook the panes of his single window recall-
ed to him the danger he was in. Visions
followed. Now he saw the wounded cover-
ed with blood ; now bursting shells, pieces of
which flew into his room; now the pretty Sis-
ter of Charity who dressed his wounds weep-
ing over his agony, or his mother, who, car-
rying him back to the provincial town, pray-
ing to God for him before a miraculous im-
age, shed hot tears. Sleep eluded him ; but
suddenly the thought of an all - powerful
Deity who sees everything and who hears
every prayer filashed upon him distinct and
clear in the midst of his reveries. He fell
upon his knees, making the sign of the cross,
and clasping his hands as he had been
taught in his childhood. This simple gest-
ure aroused in him a feeling of infinite, long-
forgotten calm.
" If I am to die, it is because I am use-
less! Then, may Thy wdll be done, O Lord!
and may it be done quickly. But if the
couraore and firmness which I lack are nee-
essary to me, spare me the shame and the
dishonor, which I cannot endure, and teach
i82 Sebastopol.
me what I must do to accomplish Thy
will."
His weak, childish, and terrified soul was
fortified, was calmed at once, and entered
new, broad, and luminous regions. He
thought of a thousand things ; he experi-
enced a thousand sensations in the short
duration of this feeling ; then he quietly
went to sleep, heedless of the dull roar of
the bombardment and of the shaking win-
dows.
Lord, Thou alone hast heard. Thou alone
knowest the simple but ardent and despairing
prayers of ignorance, the confused repent-
ance asking for the cure of the body and
the purification of the soul — the prayers
which rise to Thee from these places where
death resides ; beginning with the general,
who with terror feels a presentiment of ap-
proaching death, and a second after thinks
only of wearing a cross of Saint George on
his neck, and ending with the simple soldier
prostrate on the bare earth of the Nicholas
battery, supplicating Thee to grant him for
his sufferings the recompense he uncon-
sciously has a glimpse of.
August^ i8^^. i8j
XIV.
The elder Koseltzoff, having met a sol-
dier of his reg:iment in the street, was ac-
companied by him to the fifth bastion.
" Keep close to the wall, Excellency," the
soldier said.
" What for ?"
" It is dangerous, Excellency. He is al-
ready passing over us," replied the soldier,
listening to the whistling of the ball, which
struck with a dry sound the other side of
the hard road. But Koseltzoff continued
on in the middle of the road without heed-
ing this advice. There were the same streets,
the same but more frequent flashes, the same
sounds and the same groans, the same meet-
ino- of wounded men, the same batteries,
parapet, and trenches, just as he had seen
them in the spring. But now their aspect
was more dismal, more sombre and more
martial, so to speak. A greater number of
houses was riddled, and there were no more
lights in the windows — the hospital was
the only exception — no more w^omen in
the street; and the character of the accus-
tomed, careless life formerly imprinted on
184 Sebastopol.
everything was effaced, and was replaced by
the element of anxious, weary expectation,
and of redoubled and incessant effort.
He came at last to the farthermost in-
trenchment, and a soldier of the P reg-
iment recognized his former company chief.
There was the third battalion, as could be
guessed in the darkness by the constrained
murmur of voices and the clicks of the mus-
kets placed against the wall, which the
flash of the discharges lit up at frequent in-
tervals.
" Where is the commander of the regi-
ment V asked Koseltzoff.
" In the bomb-proof with the marines,
your Excellency," replied the obliging sol-
dier. " If you would like to go I will show
you the way."
Passing from one trench to another, he
led Koseltzoff to the ditch, where a sailor
was smoking his pipe. Behind him was a
door, through the cracks of which shone a
light.
" Can we go in T'
" I will announce you ;" and the sailor en-
tered the bomb-proof, where two voices could
be heard.
August, 185^. 18^
" If Prussia continues to keep neutral,
then Austria — " said one of them.
" What is Austria good for when the
slavs — " said the other. — " Ah yes ! ask him
to come in," added this same voice.
Koseltzoff, who had never before put his
foot in these bomb-proof quarters, was struck
by their elegance. A polished floor took
the place of boards, a screen hid the en-
trance door. In a corner was a great icon
representing the holy Virgin, with its gilt
frame lighted by a small pink glass lamp.
Two beds were placed along the wall, on
one of which a naval officer was sleeping
in his clothes, on the other, near a table on
which two open bottles of wine were stand-
ing, sat the new regimental chief and an
aide-de-camp. Koseltzoff, who was not
bashful, and who felt himself in nowise
guilty, either towards the State or towards
the chief of the regiment, felt, nevertheless,
at the sight of the latter — his comrade until
very recently — a certain apprehension.
" It is strange," he thought, seeing him rise
to listen to him. " He has commanded the
regiment scarcely six weeks, and power is al-
ready visible in his bearing, in his look, in
i86 Sebastopol.
his clothes. Not a long while ago this same
Batretcheff amused himself in our quarters,
wore for whole weeks the same dark calico
shirt, and ate his hash and his sour cream
without inviting any one to share it, and now
an expression full of hard pride can be read
in his eyes, which say to me, 'Although I
am your comrade, for I am a regimental
chief of the new school, you may be sure I
know perfectly well that you would give half
your life to be in my place.' "
" You have been treating yourself to a
rather long absence," said the colonel, coldly,
lookinor at him.
" I have been ill, colonel, and my wound
is not yet altogether healed."
" If that's so, what did you come back
for.?" Koseltzoff's corpulence inspired his
chief with defiance. " Can 3'ou do your
duty?"
" Certainly I can."
"All right. Ensign Zaitzeftwill conduct
you to the ninth company, the one you have
already commanded. You will receive the
order of the day. Be so good as to send
me the regimental aide-de-camp as you go
out," and his chief, bowing slightly, gave him
August, 185^. 18 y
to understand by this that the interview was
ended.
On his way out Koseltzoff muttered in-
distinct words and shrugged his shoulders
several times. It might readily be believed
that he felt ill at ease, or that he was irri-
tated, not exactly against his regimental
chief, but rather against himself and against
all his surroundings.
XV.
Before eoincf to find his officers he went
to look up his company. The' parapets
built of 'gabions, the trenches, the cannon in
front of which he passed, even the frag-
ments and the shells themselves over which
he stumbled, and which the flashes of the
discharges lighted up without pause or re-
laxation, everything was familiar to him, and
had been deeply engraven on his memory
three months before, during the fortnight
he had lived in the bastion. Notwithstand-
ing the dismal side of these memories, a cer-
tain inherent charm of the past came out
of them, and he recognized the places and
things with an unaffected pleasure, as if the
two weeks had been full of only agreea-
i88 ScbastopoL
ble impressions. His company was placed
along the covered way which led to the
sixth bastion.
Entering the shelter open on one side, he
found so many soldiers there that he could
scarcely find room to pass. At one end
burned a wretched candle, which a reclin-
ing soldier was holding over a book that his
comrade was spelling out. Around him, in
the twilight of a thick and heavy atmos-
phere, several heads could be seen turned
towards the reader, listening eagerly. Ko-
seltzoff recognized the A B C of this sen-
tence: " P-r-a-y-e-r a-f-t-e-r s-t-u-d-y. I give
Thee thanks, my Cre-a-tor."
" Snuff the candle !" some one shouted.
" What a good book !" said the reader, pre-
paring to go on. But at the sound of Ko-
seltzoff's voice calling the sergeant-major
it was silent. The soldiers moved, coughed,
and blew their noses, as always happens
after an enforced silence. The sergeant-
major arose from the middle of the group,
buttoning his uniform, stepping over his
comrades, and trampling on their feet, which
for lack of room they did not know where
to stow, approached the officer.
August, 1 8^^. i8g
" How do you do, my boy? Is this our
company ?"
" Health to your Excellency ! We con-
gratulate you on your return," replied the
sergeant-major, gayly and good-natured-
ly. " You are cured, Excellency ? God be
praised for that ! for we missed you a good
deal."
Koseltzoff, it was evident, was beloved by
his company. Voices could immediately be
heard spreading the news that the old com-
pany chief had come back, he who had been
wounded — Mikhail Semenovitch Koseltzoff.
Several soldiers, the drummer amonor oth-
ers, came to greet him.
" How do you do, Obanetchouk .?" said
Koseltzoff. " Are you safe and sound }
How do you do, children .?" he then added,
raising his voice.
The soldiers replied in chorus,
" Health to your Excellency !"
" How goes it, children V
" Badly, your Excellency. The French
have the upper hands. He fires from be-
hind the intrenchments, but he doesn't show
himself outside."
" Now, then, who knows } perhaps I shall
igo Sebastopol.
have the chance of seeing him come out of
the intrenchments, children. It won't be the
first time we have fought him together."
"We are ready to do our best, your Excel-
lency," said several voices at the same time.
" He is very bold, then ?"
" Terribly bold," replied the drummer in
a low tone, but so as to be heard, and speak-
ing to another soldier, as if to justify his
chief for having made use of the expression,
and to persuade his comrade that there was
nothing exaggerated nor untrue in it.
Koseltzoff left the soldiers in order to
join the officers in the barracks.
XVI.
The great room of the barracks was filled
with people — a crowd of naval, artillery, and
infantry officers. Some were sleeping, oth-
ers were talking, seated on a caisson or on
the carriage of a siege-gun. The largest
group of the three, seated on their cloaks
spread on the ground, w^ere drinking porter
and playing cards.
"Ah! Koseltzoff's come back! Bravo!
And your wound T said divers voices from
different sides.
Aligns t, i8^^. igi
Here also he was liked, and they were re-
joiced at his return.
After having shaken hands with his ac-
quaintances, Koseltzoff joined the gay group
of card-players. One of them, thin, w^ith a
long nose, and a large mustache which en-
croached on his cheeks, cut the cards with
his white, slender fingers on one of which
was a great seal ring. He seemed disturb-
ed, and dealt with an affected carelessness.
On his right, lying half raised on his elbow,
a gray-haired major staked and paid a half-
ruble every time with exaggerated calmness.
On his left, crouching on his heels, an offi-
cer with a red and shining face joked and
smiled with an effort, and when his card was
laid down, one of his hands moved in the
empty pocket of his trousers He played a
heavy game, but without any money — a fact
which visibly irritated the dark officer with
the handsome face. Another officer, pale,
thin, and bald, with an enormous nose and
a large mouth, walking about the room with
a bundle of bank-notes in his hand, counted
down the money on the bank and won every
time.
Koseltzoff drank a small glass of brandy
and sat down beside the players.
ig2 Scbastopol.
" Come, Mikhail Semenovitch, come ; put
up your stake !" said the officer who was
cutting the cards ; " Til bet you have brought
back a lot of money."
" Where could I have got it ? On the
contrary, I spent my last penny in town !"
" Really ! You must have fleeced some
one at Sympheropol, I'm sure !"
" What an idea !" replied Koseltzoff, not
wanting his words to be believed, and un-
buttoning his uniform, to be more comfort-
able, he took a few old cards,
" I have nothing to risk, but, devil take
me ! who can foresee luck ? A gnat can
sometimes accomplish wonders ! Let's go
on drinking to keep our courage up."
Shortly after he swallowed a second small
glass of brandy, a little porter into the bar-
gain, and lost his last three rubles, while a
hundred and fifty were charged to the ac-
count of the little officer with the sweat-
moistened face.
" Have the kindness to send me the mon-
ey," said the banker, interrupting the deal
to look at him.
" Allow me to put off sending it until to-
morrow," replied the one addressed, rising.
August, i8s5. 193
His hand was nervously moving in his emp-
ty pocket.
" Hum !" said the banker, spitefully throw-
ing the last cards of the pack right and left.
" We can't play in this way," he rejoined ;
" I will stop the game. It can't be done,
Zakhar Ivanovitch. We are playing cash
down, and not for credit."
" Do you distrust me ? That would be
strange indeed !"
" From whom have I to get eight rubles V
the major who had just won asked at this
moment. " I have paid out more than
twenty, and when I win I get nothing,"
" How do you think I can pay you when
there is no money on the table V
" That's nothing to me !" cried the major,
rising. " I am playing with you, and not
with this gentleman !"
" As long as I tell you," said the perspir-
ing officer — " as long as I tell you I will pay
you to-morrow, how do you dare insult me V
" I'll say what I like. This is no way of
doing !" cried the major, excited.
" Come, be quiet, Fedor Fedorovitch !"
shouted several players at once, turning
around.
13
ig^ Sebastopol.
Let us drop the curtain on this scene.
To-morrow, perhaps to-day, each of these
men will go to meet death gayly, proudly,
and will die calmly and firmly. The only
consolation of a life the conditions of which
freeze with horror the coldest imagination,
of a life which has nothing human in it, to
which all hope is interdicted, is forgetful-
ness, annihilation of the consciousness of
the reahty. In the soul of every man lies
dormant the noble spark which at the prop-
er time will make a hero of him ; but this
spark grows tired of shining always. Nev-
ertheless, when the fatal moment comes, it
will burst into a flame which will illumine
grand deeds.
XVII.
The next day the bombardment contin-
ued with the same violence. About eleven
o'clock in the forenoon Volodia Koseltzoff
joined the officers of his battery. He be-
came accustomed to these new faces, asked
them questions, and, in his turn, shared his
impressions with them. The modest but
slightly pedantic conversation of the artillery-
men pleased him and inspired his respect.
August, 1S55. ig^
On the other hand, his own sympathetic
apjDearance, his timid manner, and his sim-
pHcity predisposed these gentlemen in his
favor. The oldest officer of the battery, a
short, red-haired captain with a foretop, and
with well -smoothed locks on his temples,
brought up in the old traditions of artillery,
amiable with ladies, and posing for a savant,
asked him questions about his acquaintance
with this science or that, about the new in-
ventions, joked in an affectionate way about
his youth and his handsome face, and treated
him like a son, all of which charmed Volo-
dia. Sub-lieutenant Dedenko, a young offi-
cer with an accent of Little Russia, with
shaggy hair and a torn overcoat, pleased him
also, in spite of his loud voice, his frequent
quarrels, and his brusque movements, for
under this rude exterior Volodia saw a
brave and worthy man. Dedenko eagerly
offered his services to Volodia, and tried to
prove to him that the cannon at Sebastopol
had not been placed according to rule. On
the other hand, Lieutenant Tchernovitzky,
with high-arched eyebrows, who wore a well-
cared -for but worn and mended overcoat,
and a gold chain on a satin waistcoat, did
ig6 Sebastopol.
not inspire him with any sympathy, al-
though superior to the others in poHteness.
He continually asked Volodia details about
the emperor, the minister of war, related
with factitious enthusiasm the heroic ex-
ploits accomplished at Sebastopol, expressed
his regrets at the small number of true pa-
triots, made a show of a great deal of knowl-
edge, of wit, of exceedingly noble sentiments,
but in spite of all that, and without being
able to tell why, all these discourses sound-
ed false in his ears, and he even noticed
that the officers in general avoided speak-
ing to Tchernovitzky. The yunker, Viang,
whom he had waked up the evening before,
sat modestly in a corner, kept silent, laughed
sometimes at a joke, always ready to recall
what had been forgotten, presented to the
officers in turn the small glass of brandy,
and rolled cigarettes for all. Charmed by
the simple and polite manners of Volodia,
who did not treat him like a boy, and by
his agreeable appearance, his great, fine
eyes never left the face of the new-comer.
Urged by a feeling of great admiration, he
divined and forestalled all his wishes, a fact
which the officers immediately noticed, and
August, 1 8^^. igy
which furnished the subject of unsparing
jokes.
A little before dinner second - captain
Kraut, relieved from duty on the bastion,
joined the little company. A blond, fine-
looking fellow, of a lively turn of mind, proud
possessor of a pair of red mustaches, and side-
whiskers of the same color, he spoke the lan-
guage to perfection, but too correctly and
too elegantly for a pure-blooded Russian.
Quite as irreproachable in duty as in his pri-
vate life, perfection was his failing. A perfect
comrade, to be counted on beyond proof in
all affairs of interest, he lacked something
as a man, just because everything in him
was an accomplishment. In striking con-
trast with the ideal Germans of Germany,
he was, after the example of the Russian
Germans, in the highest degree practical.
" Here he is! here's our hero!" shouted the
captain at the moment Kraut came in, gestic-
ulating and clanking his spurs. " What'll
you have, Frederic Christianovitch — tea or
brandy .?"
" I am having some tea made, but I won't
refuse brandy while I am waiting, for my
soul's consolation ! Happy to make your
igS Sebastopol.
acquaintance ! Please get fond of us, and
be well-disposed towards us," he said to Vo-
lodia, who had arisen to salute him. " Sec-
ond-captain Kraut ! The artificer told me
you came last evening."
" Allow me to thank you for your bed,
which I profited by last night."
" Did you at least sleep comfortably there }
Because one of the legs is gone, and no one
can repair it during the siege. You have to
keep wedging it up."
" So then you got out of it safely ?" De-
denko asked him.
" Yes, thank God ! but Skvortzoff was
hit. We had to repair one of the carriages ;
the side of it was smashed to pieces."
He suddenly arose and walked up and
down. It could be seen that he felt the
agreeable sensation of a man who has
just come safe and sound out of great
danger.
" Now, Dmitri Gavrilovitch," he said, tap-
ping the captain's knee in a friendly man-
ner, " how are you, brother ? What has be-
come of your presentation for advancement }
Has it finally been settled ?"
" No ; nothing has come of it."
Au^gust, i8^^. igg
" And nothing will come of it," said De-
denko ; " I've proved it to you already."
" Why will nothing come of it ?"
" Because your statement is badly made."
" Ah, what a violent wrangler !" said Kraut,
gayly. "A truly obstinate Little Russian.
All right ; you will see that they will make
you lieutenant to pay for your mortification."
" No, they won't do anything."
" Viang," added Kraut, speaking to the
yunker, " fill my pipe and bring it to me,
please."
Kraut's presence had waked them all up.
Chatting with each one, he gave the details
of the bombardment, and asked questions
about what had taken place during his ab-
sence.
XVIII.
" Now, then, are you settled V Kraut asked
of Volodia. " But, pardon me, what is your
name — both your names } It's our custom
in the artillery. Have you a saddle-horse .?"
" No," answered Volodia, " and I am much
troubled about it. I have spoken to the
captain. I shall have neither horse nor
money until I get my forage-money and my
200 Scbastopol.
travelling expenses. I would like to ask the
commander of the battery to lend me his
horse, but I am afraid he will refuse."
" You would like to ask this of Apollo
Serguei'tch T said Kraut, looking at the cap-
tain, while he made a sound with his lips
which expressed doubt.
" Well," said the latter, " if he refuses,
there is no great harm done. To tell the
truth, there is seldom need of a horse here.
I will undertake to ask him to-day even."
" You don't know him," said Dedenko.
" He would refuse anything else, but he
wouldn't refuse his horse to this gentleman.
Would you like to bet on it ?"
*' Oh, I know you are ripe for contradic-
tion, you — "
" I contradict when I know a thinor \ He
isn't generous usually, but he will lend his
horse, because he has no interest in refus-
ing It.
" How no interest ? When oats cost eight
rubles here it is evidently in his interest.
He will have one horse the less to keep."
" Vladimir Semenovitch !" cried Viang,
coming back with Kraut's pipe. "Ask for
the spotted one ; it is a charming horse."
August, iSj^. 201
"That's the one you fell into the ditch
with, eh, Viang ?" observed the second-cap-
tain.
" But you are mistaken in saying that
oats are eight rubles," maintained Dedenko,
in the mean time, continuing the discus-
sion. "According to the latest news they
are ten-fifty. It is evident that there is no
profit in — "
" You would like to leave him nothing,
then ? If you were in his place you would
not lend your horse to go into town either.
When I am commander of the battery my
horses, brother, will have four full measures
to eat every day ! I sha'n't think of making
an income, rest assured !"
" He who lives will see," replied the sec-
ond-captain. " You will do the same when
you have a battery, and he also," pointing
to Volodia.
" Why do you suppose, Frederic Chris-
tianovitch, that this gentleman would also
like to reserve for himself some small prof-
it ? If he has a certain amount of money,
what will he do it for ?" Tchernovitzky ask-
ed in his turn.
" No — I — excuse me, captain," said Volo-
202 Sebastopol.
dia, blushing up to his ears. " That would
be dishonest in my eyes."
" Oh ! oh ! what milk porridge !" Kraut
said to him.
" This is another question, captain, but
it seems to me that I couldn't take mon-
ey for myself which doesn't belong to
me."
" And I will tell you something else," said
the second-captain, in a more serious tone.
" You must learn that, being battery com-
mander, there is -every advantage in manag-
ing affairs well. You must know that the
soldier's food doesn't concern him. It has
always been that way with us in the artil-
lery. If you don't succeed in making both
ends meet, you will have nothing left. Let
us count up your expenses. You have first
the forage " — and the captain bent one fin-
ger ; " next the medicine " — he bent a sec-
ond one ; " then the administration — that
makes three; then the draft -horses, which
certainly cost fiv^e hundred rubles — that
makes four; then the refitting of the sol-
diers' collars ; then the charcoal, which is
used in great quantities, and at last the ta-
ble of your officers ; lastly, as chief of the
August, 1 8^^. 20 J
battery you must live comfortably, and you
need a carriage, a cloak, etc."
"And the principal thing is this, Vladimir
Semenovitch," said the captain, who had
been silent up to this moment. " Look at
a man like me, for example, who has served
twenty years, receiving at first two, then
three hundred rubles pay. Well, then, why
shouldn't the Government reward him for
his years of service by giving him a morsel
of bread for his old days."
" It can't be discussed," rejoined the sec-
ond-captain ; " so don't be in a hurry to judge.
Serve a little while and you will see."
Volodia, quite ashamed of the remark
which he had thrown out without stopping
to reflect, murmured a few words, and lis-
tened in silence how Dedenko set about de-
fending the opposite thesis. The discussion
was interrupted by the entrance of the colo-
nel's orderly announcing that dinner was
ready.
" You ought to tell Apollo Serguei'tch to
give us wine to-day," said Captain Tcherno-
vitzky, buttoning his coat. " Devil take his
avarice! He will be shot, and no one will
get any."
20^ Sebastopol.
" Tell him yourself."
" Oh no, you are my elder; the hierarchy
before everything !"
XIX.
A table, covered with a stained table-
cloth, was placed in the middle of the room
in which Volodia had been received by the
colonel the evening before. The latter gave
him his hand, and asked him questions about
Petersburg and about his journey.
" Now, gentlemen, please come up to the
brandy. The ensigns don't drink," he add-
ed, with a smile.
The commander of the battery did not
seem as stern to-day as the day before ; he
had rather the air of a kind and hospi-
table host than that of a comrade amone
his of^cers. In spite of that, all, from the
old captain to Ensign Dedenko, evinced re-
spect for him which betrayed itself in the
timid politeness with which they spoke to
him and came up in line to drink their little
glass of brandy.
The dinner consisted of cabbage - soup,
served in a great tureen in which swam
lumps of meat with fat attached, laurel
August, I'^SS' ^^5
leaves, and a good deal of pepper, Polish
zrasi with mustard, koldouni with slightly
rancid butter; no napkins ; the spoons were
of pewter and of wood, the glasses were two
in number. On the table was a single water
decanter with broken neck. The conversa-
tion did not flag. They first spoke of the
battle of Inkerman, in w^hich the battery
took a part. Each related his impressions,
his opinions on the causes of the failure,
keeping silent as soon as the battery com-
mander spoke. Then they complained of
the lack of cannon of a certain calibre; they
talked of certain other improvements, which
gave Volodia an opportunity of showing his
knowledge. The curious part was that the
talk did not even touch upon the frightful
situation of Sebastopol, which seemed to
mean that each one, on his part, thought
too much about it to speak of it.
Volodia, very much astonished, and even
vexed, that there was no question of the
duties of his service, said to himself that he
seemed to have come to Sebastopol only in
order to o^ive the details about the new can-
non and to dine with the battery commander.
During the repast a shell burst very near
2o6 Sebastopol.
the house. The floor and the wall were
shaken by it as by an earthquake, and pow-
der-smoke spread over the window outside.
" You certainly didn't see tliat at Peters-
buro;, but here we often have these surprises.
Go, Viang," added the commander, " and see
where the shell burst."
Viang went to look, and announced that
it had burst in the yard. After that they
did not speak of it again.
A little before the end of the dinner one
of the military clerks came in to give to his
chief three sealed envelopes. " This one is
very urgent. A Cossack has just brought
it from the commander of the artillery," he
said. The ofhcers watched the practised
fingers of their superior with anxious impa-
tience while he broke the seal of the enve-
lope, which bore the words " in haste," and
drew a paper from it.
" What can that be T each one thought.
" Can it be the order to leave Sebastopol for
a rest, or the order to bring out the whole
battery upon the bastion ?"
" Once more !" cried the commander, an-
grily, throwing the sheet of paper on the
table.
August, i8^^. 2oy
" What is it, Apollo Serguei'tch ?" asked
the oldest of the officers.
" They want an officer and men for a mor-
tar battery. I have only four officers, and
my men are not up to the full number," he
growled, " and now they ask for some of
them. However, some one must go, gen-
tlemen," he continued, after a moment ;
" they must be there at seven o'clock. Send
me the sergeant-major. Now, gentlemen,
who will go } Decide it among yourselves."
" But here is this gentleman who hasn't
yet served," said Tchernovitzky, pointing to
Volodia.
" Yes ; I wouldn't ask for anything bet-
ter," said Volodia, feeling a cold sweat moist-
en his neck and his backbone.
" No — why not ?" interrupted the captain.
" No one ought to refuse ; but it is useless
to ask him to go ; and since Apollo Ser-
guei'tch leaves us free, we will draw lots, as
we did the other time."
All consented to this. Kraut carefully
cut several little paper squares, rolled them
up, and threw them into a cap. The cap-
tain cracked a few jokes and profited by
this occasion to ask the colonel for wine.
2o8 Sebastopol.
"to give us courage," he added. Dedenko
had a depressed air, Volodia smiled, Tcher-
novitzky declared that he would be chosen
by the lot. As to Kraut, he was perfectly
calm.
They offered Volodia the first chance.
He took one of the papers, the longest, but
immediately changed it for another, shorter
and smaller, and unrolling it, read the word
" Go."
" It is I," he said, with a sigh.
" All right. May God protect you ! It
will be your baptism of fire," said the com-
mander, looking with a pleasant smile at the
disturbed face of the ensign. " But get
ready quickly, and in order that it may be
pleasanter, Viang will go with you in the
place of the artificer.
XX.
Viang, delighted with his mission, ran
away to dress, and came back at once to
assist Volodia to make up his bundles, ad-
vising him to take his bed, his fur cloak, an
old number of the "Annals of the Country,"
a coffee-pot with an alcohol lamp, and other
useless articles. The captain, in his turn,
August, i8^^. 2og
advised Volodia to read in the " Manual for
the use of Artillery Officers " the passage
relating to firing mortars, and to copy it at
once ! Volodia set himself to work at it
immediately, happy and surprised to feel
that the dread of danger, especially the
fear of passing for a coward, was less strong
than on the evening before. His impres-
sions of the day and his occupation had part-
ly contributed to diminish the violence of
this ; and then it is well known that an
acute sensation cannot last long without
weakening. In a word, his fear was being
cured. At seven in the evening, at the mo-
ment the sun was setting behind the Nicho-
las barracks, the sergeant-major came to
tell him that the men were ready, and were
waiting for him,
" I have given the list to Viang, your Ex-
cellency ; you can ask him for it," he said.
" Must I make a little speech to them?"
thought Volodia, on his way, accompanied
by the yunker, to join the twenty artillery-
men who, swords by their sides, were wait-
ing for him outside — "or must I simply
say to them, 'How do you do, children?' or,
indeed, say nothing at all ? Why not say
2IO Sebastopol.
' How do you do, children ?' I think I ought
to ;" and with his full and sonorous voice he
cried boldly, " How do you do, children ?"
The soldiers replied cheerfully to his salu-
tation ; his young and fresh voice sounded
agreeably in their ears. He put himself at
their head, and although his heart was beat-
ing as if he had just run several furlongs,
his walk was light and his face was smiling.
When they got near the Malakoff mamelon,
he noticed, while climbing up it, that Viang,
who did not leave his heels, and who had
seemed so courageous down below in their
quarters, stooped and ducked his head as
if the bullets and shells which were whist-
ling without cessation were coming straight
towards him. Several soldiers did the same,
and the majority of the faces expressed, if
not fear, at least disquiet. This circum-
stance reassured him and revived his cour-
age.
" Here I am, then, I also, on the Mala-
ko£f mamelon. I imagined it a thousand
times more terrible, and I am walking, I am
advancing, without saluting the bullets ! I
am less afraid than the others, and I am
not a coward, then," he said to himself joy-
August, i8^^. 211
fully, with the enthusiasm of satisfied self-
love.
This feeling was, however, shaken by the
spectacle that presented itself to his eyes.
When he reached in the twilight the Kor-
niloff battery, four sailors, some holding by
the legs, others by the arms, the bloody
corpse of a man with bare feet and no coat,
were in the act of throwing him over the
parapet. (The second day of the bombard-
ment they threw the dead into the ditch, be-
cause they had no time to carry them off.)
Volodia, stupefied, saw the corpse strike the
upper part of the rampart, and slide from
there into the ditch. Fortunately for him,
he met at this very moment the commander
of the bastion, who gave him a guide to lead
him to the battery and into the bomb-proof
quarters of the men. We will not relate
how often our hero was exposed to danger
during that night. We will say nothing of
how he was undeceived when he noticed
that instead of findino^ them firins: here ac-
cording to the precise rules such as they
practise at Petersburg on the plain of Vol-
kovo, he saw himself in front of two broken
mortars, one with its muzzle bruised by
212 Sebastopol.
a shell, the other still upright on the pieces
of a destroyed platform. We will not tell
how it was impossible for him to get the
soldiers in order to repair it before daylight,
how he found no charge of the calibre indi-
cated in the " Manual," nor describe his feel-
ings at seeing two of his soldiers fall, hit
before his eyes, nor how he himself, even,
escaped death twenty times by a hair's-
breadth. Happily for him, the captain of
the mortar, who had been given him for an
assistant, a tall sailor attached to these mor-
tars since the beginning of the siege, assured
him that they could make use of them still,
and promised him while he was walking on
the bastion, lantern in hand, as calmly as
if he were in his kitchen-garden, to put them
in good condition before morning.
The bomb-proof reduct into which his
guide conducted him was only a great, long
cavern dug in the rocky earth, two fathoms
deep, protected by oaken timbers eighteen
inches thick. There he established himself
with his soldiers.
As soon as Viang noticed the little low
door which led into it, he threw himself in
the first with such haste that he nearly fell
August, i8 ^^, 21 J
on the stone -paved floor, cowered down in
a corner, and did not care to come out of
it. The soldiers placed themselves on the
ground along the wall. Some of them light-
ed their pipes, and Volodia arranged his bed
in a corner, stretched himself on it, lighted
a candle in his turn, and smoked a cigarette.
Over their heads could be heard, deadened
by the bomb-proof, the uninterrupted roar of
the discharges. A single cannon close be-
side them shook their shelter every time it
thundered^ In the interior everything was
quiet. The soldiers, still intimidated by the
presence of the new officer, only exchanged
a word with each other now and then to
ask for a light or a little room. A rat was
scratching somewhere among the stones,
and Viang, who had not yet recovered from
his emotion, occasionally sighed deeply as he
looked about him. Volodia, on his bed in
this peaceful corner crammed with people,
lighted by a single candle, gave himself up
to the feeling of comfort which he had often
had as a child when, playing hide-and-seek,
he slipped into a wardrobe or under his
mother's skirt, holding his breath, stretch-
ing his ears, being very much afraid of the
214 Sebastopol.
dark, and feeling at the same time an un-
conscious impression of well-being.
In the same way here, without being al-
together at his ease, he felt rather disposed
to be cheerful.
XXI.
At the end of ten minutes the soldiers
got bold and began to talk. Near the ofH-
cer's bed, in the circle of light, were placed
the highest in rank — the two artificers, one
an old gray-haired man, his breast adorned
with a mass of medals and crosses, among
which the cross of Saint George was want-
ing, however, the other a young man, smok-
ing cigarettes which he was rolling, and the
drummer, who placed himself, as is the cus-
tom, at the orders of the officer, in the back-
ground. In the shadow of the entrance,
behind the bombardier and the medalled
soldiers seated in front, the " humbles " kept
themselves. They were the first to break
silence. One of them, running in fright-
ened from outside, served as a theme for
their conversation.
" Eh ! say there, you didn't stay long in the
street. Young girls are not playing there,
hey .?" said a voice.
August, i8s5> 21 s
" On the contrary, they are singing won-
derful sonss. You don't hear such ones in
the village," replied the new-comer, with a
laugh, and all out of breath.
" Vassina doesn't like the shells ; no, he
doesn't like them !" some one cried from the
aristocratic side.
" When it is necessary it is another story,"
slowly replied Vassina, whom everybody lis-
tened to when he spoke. " The twenty-fourth,
for example, they fired so that it was a bless-
ing, and there is no harm in that. Why let
us be killed for nothing ? Do the chiefs
thank us for that ?"
These words provoked a general laugh.
" Nevertheless, there is Melnikoff, who is
outside all the time," said some one.
" It is true. Make him come in," added
the old artificer, "otherwise he will get killed
for nothing."
" Who is this Melnikoff ?" asked Volodia.
" He is, your Excellency, an animal who
is afraid of nothing. He is walking about
outside. Please examine him ; he looks like
a bear."
" He practises witchcraft," added Vassina,
in his calm voice.
2 lb ScbastopoL
Melnikoff, a very corpulent soldier (a rare
thing), with red hair, a tremendously bulging
forehead, and light blue projecting eyes, came
in just at this moment.
"Are you afraid of bomb-shells ?" Volodia
asked him.
" Why should I be afraid of them ?" re-
peated Melnikoff, scratching his neck. " No
bomb-shell will kill me, I know."
" Do you like to live here V
" To be sure I do ; it is very entertaining,"
and he burst out laughing.
" Then you must be sent out In a sortie.
Would you like to t I will speak to the
general," said Volodia, although he knew no
general.
" Why not like to } I should like to very
much !" and Melnikoff disappeared behind
his comrades.
" Come, children, let's play ' beggar my
neighbor !' Who has cards V asked an im-
patient voice, and the game immediately be-
gan in the farthest corner. The calling of
the tricks could be heard, the sound of taps
on the nose and the bursts of laughter. Vo-
lodia in the mean time drank tea prepared
by the drummer, offering some to the arti-
August, 1 8^^. 21/
ficers, joking and chatting with them, desir-
ous of making himself popular, and very well
satisfied with the respect they showed him.
The soldiers having noticed that the " ba-
rine " was a good fellow, became animated,
and one of them announced that the siege
was soon eoinsf to come to an end, for a sail-
or had told him for a certainty that Constan-
tine, the Czar's brother, was coming to deliv-
er them with the 'merican' * fleet; that there
would soon be an armistice of two weeks
to rest, and that seventy-five kopeks would
have to be paid for every shot that was fired
during the truce.
Vassina, whom Volodia had already no-
ticed— the short soldier with fine great eyes
and side-whiskers — related in his turn, in
the midst of a general silence, which was
next broken by bursts of laughter, the joy
that had been felt at first on seeing him
come back to his village on his furlough, and
how his father had then sent him to work in
the fields every day, while the lieutenant-
forester sent to fetch his wife in a carriage.
Volodia was amused by all these tales. He
* American.
2i8 Sebastopol.
had no longer the least fear, and the strong
odors which filled their reduct did not cause
him any disgust. He felt, on the contrary,
very gay, and in a very agreeable mood.
Several soldiers were snoring already.
Viang was also lying on the ground, and
the old artificer, having spread his overcoat
on the earth, crossed himself with devotion
and mumbled the evening prayer, when Vo-
lodia took a fancy to go and see what was
going on out of doors.
" Pull in your legs !" the soldiers immedi-
ately said to one another as they saw him
get up, and each one drew his legs back to
let him pass.
Viang, who was supposed to be asleep,
got up and seized Volodia by the lapel of
his coat. " Come, don't go ! what is the
use T he said, in a tearful and persuasive
voice. " You don't know what it is. Bul-
lets are raining out there. We are better
off here."
But Volodia went out without heeding
him, and sat down on the very threshold of
their quarters by the side of Melnikoff.
The air was fresh and pure, especially af-
ter that he had just been breathing, and the
Atigiist, iS^^. 21 g
night was clear and calm. Through the
roar of the cannonade could be heard the
creak of the wheels of the carts bringing
gabions, and the voices of those working in
the magazine. Over their heads sparkled
the starry sky, striped by the luminous fur-
rows of the projectiles. On the left was
a small opening, two feet and a half high,
leading to a bomb-proof shelter, where could
be perceived the feet and the backs of the
sailors who lived there, and who were plain-
ly heard talking. Opposite rose the mound
which covered the magazine, in front of
which figures, bent double, passed and re-
passed. On the very top of the eminence,
exposed to bullets and shells which did not
stop whistling at that spot, was a tall black
figure, with his hands in his pockets, tram-
pling on the fresh earth which was brought
in bags. From time to time a shell fell and
burst two paces from him. The soldiers
who were carrying sacks bent down and
separated, while the black silhouette contin-
ued quietly to level the earth with his feet
without changing his position.
" Who is it .?" Volodia asked Melnikoff.
" I don't know ; I am going to see."
220 Sebastopol.
" Don't go ; it is no use."
But Melnikoff rose without listenino: to
him, went up to the black man, and remain-
ed immovable a long time beside him with
the same indifference to dano-er.
" It is the guardian of the magazine, your
Excellency," he said, on his return. " A
shell made a hole in it, and they are cover-
ing it up with earth."
When the shells seemed to fly straight
upon the bomb-proof quarters Volodia
squeezed himself into the corner, and then
came out raising his eyes to the sky to see
if others were comino^. Althousfh Vlangf,
still lying down, had more than once begged
him to come in, Volodia passed three hours
seated on the threshold, finding a certain
pleasure in thus exposing himself, as well
as in watching the flight of the projectiles.
Towards the end of the evening: he knew
perfectly well the number of the cannon and
the direction they fired, and where their
shots struck.
XXII.
The next day — the 27th of August — af-
ter ten hours of sleep, Volodia came out
Atcgust, 1855. 221
of the bomb-proof fresh and well, Viang
followed him, but at the first hissing of a
cannon-ball he bounded back and threw
himself through the narrow opening, knock-
ing his head as he went, to the general
laugh of the soldiers, all of whom, with the
exception of Viang, of the old artificer, and
two or three others who rarely showed them-
selves in the trenches, had slipped outside
to breathe the fresh morning air. In spite
of the violence of the bombardment, they
could not be prevented from remaining
there, some near the entrance, others shel-
tered by the parapet. As to Melnikoff, he
had been going and coming between the bat-
teries since daybreak, looking in the air
with indifference.
On the very threshold of the quarters were
seated three soldiers, two old and one young
one. The latter, a curly-headed Jewish in-
fantryman attached to the battery, picked
up a bullet which rolled at his feet, and flat-
tening it against a stone with a piece of a
shell, he cut out of it a cross on the model
of that of Saint George, while the others
chatted, watching his work with interest, for
he succeeded well with it,
222 Sebastopol.
" I say that if we stay here some time yet,
when peace comes we shall be retired."
" Sure enough. I have only four years
more to serve, and I have been here six
months !"
" That doesn't count for retirement," said
another, at the moment when a cannon-ball
whizzing over the group struck the earth a
yard away from Melnikoff, who was coming
towards them in the trench.
" It almost killed Melnikoff!" cried a sol-
dier.
" It won't kill me," replied the former.
" Here, take this cross for your bravery,"
said the young Jewish soldier, finishing the
cross and giving it to him.
" No, brother, here the months count for
years without exception. There was an or-
der about it," continued the talker.
" Whatever happens, there will surely be,
on the conclusion of peace, a review by the
Emperor at Warsaw, and if we are not re-
tired we shall have an unlimited furlough."
Just at this instant a small cannon-ball
passing over their heads with a ricochet,
seemed to moan and whistle together and
fell on a stone.
August, 1 8^^. 22^
"Attention!" said one of the soldiers.
" Perhaps between now and night you will
get your definite furlough !"
Everybody began to laugh. Two hours
had not passed, evening had not yet come, be-
fore two of them had, in effect, received their
"definite furlough," and five had been wound-
ed, but the rest continued to joke as before.
In the morning the two mortars had been
put in order, and Volodia received at ten
o'clock the order from the commander of
the bastion to assemble his men and eo
with them upon the battery. Once at work,
there remained no trace of that terror which
the evening before showed itself so plainly.
Viang alone did not succeed in overcoming
it ; he hid himself, and bent down every in-
stant. Vassina had also lost his coolness,
he was excited and saluted. As to Volo-
dia, stirred by an enthusiastic satisfaction, he
thought no more of the danger. The joy
he felt at doing his duty well, at being no
longer a coward, at feeling himself, on the
contrary, full of courage, the feeling of com-
manding and the presence of twenty men,
who he knew were watching him with curi-
osity, had made a real hero of him. Being
22^ Sebastopol.
even a little vain of his bravery, he got up
on the banquette, unbuttoning his coat so as
to be well observ^ed. The commander of the
bastion, in going his rounds, although he
had been accustomed during eight months
to courage in all its forms, could not help
admiring this fine-looking boy with animated
face and eyes, his unbuttoned coat exposing
a red shirt, which confined a white and deli-
cate neck, clapping his hands, and crying in
a voice of command, " First ! second !" and
jumping gayly on the rampart to see where
his shell had fallen. At half-past eleven the
firing stopped on both sides, and at noon
precisely began the assault on the Malakoff
mamelon, as well as upon the second, third,
and fifth bastions.
XXIII.
On this side of the bay, between Inker-
man and the fortifications of the north, two
sailors were standing, in the middle of the
day, on Telegraph Height. Near them an
officer was looking at Sebastopol through
a field-glass, and another on horseback, ac-
companied by a Cossack, had just rejoined
him near the great signal-pole.
August, i8^^. 22^
The sun soared over the gulf, where the
water, covered with ships at anchor, and
with sail and row boats in motion, played
merrily in its warm and luminous rays. A
light breeze, which scarcely shook the leaves
of the stunted oak bushes that grew beside
the signal-station, filled the sails of the boats,
and made the waves ripple softly. On the
other side of the gulf Sebastopol was visi-
ble, unchanged, with its unfinished church,
its column, its quay, the boulevard which
cut the hill with a green band, the elegant
library building, its little lakes of azure blue,
with their forests of masts, its picturesque
aqueducts, and, above all that, clouds of a
bluish tint, formed by powder-smoke, light-
ed up from time to time by the red flame of
the firing. It was the same proud and beau-
tiful Sebastopol, with its festal air, surround-
ed on one side by the yellow smoke-crowned
hills, on the other by the sea, deep blue in
color, and sparkling brilliantly in the sun.
At the horizon, where the smoke of a steam-
er traced a black line, white, narrow clouds
were rising, precursors of a wind. Along
the whole line of the fortifications, along the
heights, especially on the left side, spurted
15
226 Sebastopol.
out suddenly, torn by a visible flash, although
it was broad daylight, plumes of thick white
smoke, which, assuming various forms, ex-
tended, rose, and colored the sky with som-
bre tints. These jets of smoke came out on
all sides — from the hills, from the hostile
batteries, from the city — and flew towards
the sky. The noise of the explosions shook
the air with a continuous roar. Towards
noon these smoke -puffs became rarer and
rarer, and the vibrations of the air strata
became less frequent.
"Do you know that the second bastion
is no longer replying T said the hussar offi-
cer on horseback ; " it is entirely demol-
ished. It is terrible !"
" Yes, and the Malakoff replies twice out
of three times," answered the one who was
looking through the field-glass. " This si-
lence is drivinor me mad ! Thev are firinof
straight on the Korniloff battery, and that
is not replying."
" You'll see it will be as I said ; towards
noon they will cease firing. It is always that
way. Come and take breakfast, they are
waiting for us. There is nothing more to
see here."
August, 1855. 22^
" Wait, don't bother me," replied, with
marked agitation, the one looking through
the field-glass.
" What is it ? — what's the matter ?"
" There is a movement in the trenches ;
they are marching in close columns."
" Yes, I see it well," said one of the sail-
ors ; " they are advancing by columns. We
must set the signal."
"But see, there — see ! They are coming
out of the trenches !"
They could see, in fact, with the naked
eye black spots going down from the hill
into the ravine, and proceeding from the
French batteries towards our bastions. In
the foreground, in front of the former, black
spots could be seen very near our lines.
Suddenly, from different points of the bas-
tion at the same time, spurted out the white
plumes of the discharges, and, thanks to the
wind, the noise of a lively fusillade could be
heard, like the patter of a heavy rain against
the windows. The black lines advanced,
wrapped in a curtain of smoke, and came
nearer. The fusillade increased in violence.
The smoke burst out at shorter and shorter
intervals, extended rapidly along the line in
228 Sebastopol.
a single light, lilac-colored cloud, unrolling
and enlarging itself by turns, furrowed here
and there by flashes or rent by black points.
All the noises mingled together in the tu-
mult of one continued roar.
" It is an assault," said the officer, pale
with emotion, handing his glass to the sailor.
Cossacks and officers on horseback went
along the road, preceding the commander-
in-chief in his carriage, accompanied by his
suite. Their faces expressed the painful
emotion of expectation.
" It is impossible that it is taken !" said
the officer on horseback.
" God in heaven ! — the flag ! Look now !"
cried the other, choked by emotion, turning
away from the glass. " The French flag is
in the Malakoff mamelon !"
" Impossible !"
XXIV.
Koseltzoff the elder, who had had the
time during the night to win and lose again
all his winnings, including even the gold-
pieces sewn in the seams of his uniform,
was sleeping, towards morning, in the bar-
racks of the fifth bastion, a heavy but deep
August, iSsS' 22g
sleep, when the sinister cry rang out, re-
peated by different voices, " The alarm !"
" Wake up, Mikhail Semenovitch ! It is
an assault !" a voice cried in his ear.
" A school-boy trick," he replied, opening
his eyes without believing the news ; but
when he perceived an officer, pale, agitated,
running wildly from one corner to another,
he understood all, and the thought that he
might perhaps be taken for a coward re-
fusing to join his company in a critical mo-
ment, gave him such a violent start that he
rushed out and ran straight to find his sol-
diers. The cannon were dumb, but the mus-
ket-firing was at its height, and the bullets
were whistling, not singly but in swarms,
just as the flights of little birds pass over
our heads in autumn. The whole of the
place occupied by the battalion the evening
before was filled with smoke, with cries, and
with curses. On his way he met a crowd
of soldiers and wounded, and thirty paces
farther on he saw his company brought to
a stand against a wall.
" The Swartz redoubt is occupied," said
a young officer. " All is lost !"
" What stuff and nonsense !" he angrily
2JO Sebastopol.
replied, and drawing his small rusty sword
from its scabbard, shouted, " Forward, chil-
dren! Hurrah!"
His strong and resounding voice stimu-
lated his own courage, and he ran forward
along the traverse. Fifty soldiers dashed af-
ter him with a shout. They came out on an
open place, and a hail of bullets met them.
Two struck him simultaneously, but he did
not have time to understand where they had
hit him, or whether they had bruised or had
wounded him, for in the smoke before him
blue uniforms and red trousers started up,
and cries were heard which were not Rus-
sian. A Frenchman sitting on the rampart
was waving his hat and shouting. The con-
viction that he would be killed whetted
Koseltzoff's courage. He continued to run
forward ; some soldiers passed him, others
appeared suddenly from another side and
began to run with him. The distance be-
tween them and the blue uniforms, who re-
gained their intrenchments by running, re-
mained the same, but his feet stumbled
over the dead and the wounded. Arrived
at the outer ditch, everything became con-
fused before his eyes, and he felt a violent
Augtist, 1 8^^. 2JI
pain in his chest. A half hour later he was
lying on a stretcher near the Nicholas bar-
rack. He knew he was wounded, but he
felt no pain. He would have liked, never-
theless, to drink something cold, and to feel
himself lying more comfortably.
A stout little doctor with black whiskers
came up to him and unbuttoned his over-
coat. Koseltzoff looked over his chin at
the face of the doctor, who was examining
his wound without causing him the least
pain. He, having covered the wounded
man again with his shirt, wiped his fingers
on the lapels of his coat, and turning aside
his head, passed to another in silence. Ko-
seltzoff mechanically followed with his eyes
all that was going on about him, and re-
membering the fifth bastion, congratulated
himself with great satisfaction. He had val-
iantly done his duty. It was the first time
since he was in the service that he had per-
formed it in a way that he had nothing to
reproach himself for. The surgeon, who
had just dressed another officers wound,
pointed him out to a priest, who had a fine
large red beard, and who stood there with a
cross.
2J2 Sebastopol.
" Am I going to die ?" Koseltzoff asked
him, seeing him come near.
The priest made no reply, but recited a
prayer and held the cross down to him.
Death had no terror for Koseltzoff. Carry-
ing the cross to his lips with weakening
hands, he wept.
" Are the French driven back ?" he asked
the priest in a firm voice.
" Victory is ours along the whole line,"
answered the latter, hiding the truth to
spare the feelings of the dying man, for the
French flag was already flying on the Ma-
lakoff mamelon.
" Thank God !" murmured the wounded
man, whose tears ran down his cheeks un-
noticed. The memory of his brother passed
through his mind for a second. " God
grant him the same happiness !" he said.
XXV.
But such was not Volodia's lot. While
he was listening to a tale that Vassina was
relating, the alarm cry, " The French are
coming !" made his blood rush immediately
back to his heart ; he felt his cheeks joale
and turn cold, and he remained a second
August, 1 8^^. 2JJ
stupefied. Then looking around, he saw the
soldiers button their coats and glide out one
after the other, and he heard one of them,
Melnikoff, probably, say, in a joking way,
" Come, children, let's offer him bread and
salt."
Volodia and Viang, who did not leave his
heels, went out together and ran to the bat-
tery. On one side as well as on the other
the artillery had ceased firing. The des-.
picable and cynical cowardice of the yunker
still more than the coolness of the soldiers
had the effect of restoring his courage.
" Am I like him .?" he thought, rushing
quickly towards the parapet, near which the
mortars were placed. From there he dis-
tinctly saw the French dash across the space,
free from every obstacle, and run straight
towards him. Their bayonets, sparkling in
the sun, were moving in the nearest trench-
er. A small, square-shouldered Zouave ran
ahead of the others, sabre in hand, leaping
over the ditches. " Grape !" shouted Volo-
dia, throwing himself down from the para-
pet. But the soldiers had already thought
of it, and the metallic noise of the grape,
thrown first by one mortar and then by
2J4 Sebastopol.
the other, thundered over his head. " First !
second !" he ordered, runnino- across between
the two mortars, completely forgetting the
danger. Shouts and the musket reports of
the battalion charged with the defence of
the battery were heard on one side, and sud-
denly on the left arose a desperate clamor,
repeated by many voices: " They are coming
in our rear!" and Volodia, turning around,
saw a score of Frenchmen. One of them,
a fine man with a black beard, ran towards
him, and halting ten paces from the battery,
fired at him point-blank and went on. Vo-
lodia, petrified, could not believe his eyes.
In front of him, on the rampart, were blue
uniforms, and two Frenchmen who were
spiking a cannon. With the exception of
Melnikoff, killed by a bullet at his side, and
Viang, who with downcast eyes, and face
inflamed by fury, was brandishing a hand-
spike, no one was left.
" Follow me, Vladimir Semenovitch ! fol-
low me !" shouted Viang, in a despairing
tone, defending himself with the lever from
the French who came behind him. The
yunker's menacing look, and the blow which
he struck two of them, made them halt.
August, i8s5. 2JS
" Follow me, Vladimir Semenovitch ! —
What are you waiting for ? Fly !" and he
threw himself into the trench, from which
our infantry were firing on the enemy. He
immediately came out of it, however, to see
what had become of his beloved lieutenant.
A shapeless thing, clothed in a gray over-
coat, lay, face to earth, on the spot where Vo-
lodia stood, and the whole place was filled by
the French, who were firing at our men.
XXVI.
Viang found his battery again in the sec-
ond line of defence, and of the twenty sol-
diers who recently composed it, only eight
were alive.
Towards nine o'clock in the evening Viang
and his men were crossing the bay in a steam-
boat in the direction of Severnai'a. The boat
was laden with wounded, with cannon, and
with horses. The firing had stopped every-
where. The stars sparkled in the sky as on
the night before, but a strong wind was blow-
ing and the sea was rough. On the first and
second bastions flames flashed up close to the
ground, preceding explosions which shook
the atmosphere and showed stones and black
2j6 Sebastopol.
objects of strange form thrown into the air.
Something near the docks was on fire, and
a red flame was reflected in the water. The
bridge, covered with people, was lighted up
by fires from the Nicholas battery. A great
sheaf of flames seemed to rise over the water
on the distant point of the Alexander battery,
and lighted up the under side of a cloud of
smoke which hovered over it. As on the
preceding evening, the lights of the hostile
fleet sparkled afar on the sea, calm and inso-
lent. The masts of our scuttled vessels, slow-
ly settling into the depths of the water, con-
trasted sharply against the red glow of the
fires. On the deck of the steamboat no one
spoke. Now and then, in the midst of the
regular chopping of the waves struck by the
wheels, and the hissing of escaping steam,
could be heard the snorting of horses, the
striking of their iron-shod hoofs on the
planks, the captain speaking a few words of
command, and also the dolorous groaning
of the wounded. Viang, who had not eaten
since the day before, drew a crust of bread
from his pocket and gnawed it, but at the
thought of Volodiahe broke out sobbing so
violently that the soldiers were surprised at it.
August, i8ss- ^37
" Look ! our Viang is eating bread and
weeping," said Vassina.
" Strange !" added one of them.
" See ! they have burned our barracks !"
he continued, sighing. " How many of our
fellows are dead, and dead to no purpose,
for the French have got possession !"
" We have scarcely come out alive. We
must thank God for it," said Vassina.
" It's all the same. It is maddening !"
" Why ? Do you think they will lead a
happy life there .? Wait a bit ; we will take
them back. We will still lose some of our
men, possibly, but as true as God is holy, if
the emperor orders it we will take them
back ! Do you think they have been left as
they were ? Come, come ; these were only
naked walls. The intrenchments were blown
up. He has planted his flag on the mame-
lon, it is true, but he won't risk himself in
the town. Wait a bit ; we won't be be-
hindhand with you ! Only give us time," he
said, looking in the direction of the French.
" It will be so, that's sure," said another,
with conviction.
On the whole line of the bastions of Se-
bastopol, where during whole months an ar-
2j8 Sebastopol.
dent and energetic life was stirring, where
durincr months death alone reHeved the a^-
ony of the heroes, one after the other, who
inspired the enemy's terror, hatred, and final-
ly admiration — on these bastions, I say, there
was not a single soul, everything there was
dead, fierce, frightful, but not silent, for ev-
erything all around was falling in with a din.
On the earth, torn up by a recent explosion,
were lying, here and there, broken beams,
crushed bodies of Russians and French,
heavy cast-iron cannon overturned into the
ditch by a terrible force, half buried in the
ground and forever dumb, bomb-shells, balls,
splinters of beams, ditches, bomb-proofs, and
more corpses, in blue or in gray overcoats,
which seemed to have been shaken by su-
preme convulsions, and which were lighted
up now every instant by the red fire of the
explosions which resounded in the air.
The enemy well saw that something un-
usual was going on in formidable Sebasto-
pol, and the explosions, the silence of death
on the bastions, made them tremble. Un-
der the impression of the calm and firm re-
sistance of the last day they did not yet dare
believe in the disappearance of their invinci-
August, 18^5. 2jg
ble adversary, and they awaited, silent and
motionless, the end of the dismal night.
The army of Sebastopol, like a sea whose
liquid mass, agitated and uneasy, spreads
and overflows, moved slowly forward in the
dark night, undulating into the impenetra-
ble gloom, over the bridge on the bay, pro-
ceeding towards Severnai'a, leaving behind
them those spots where so many heroes had
fallen, sprinkling them with their blood,
those places defended during eleven months
against an enemy twice as strong as itself,
and which it had received the order this
very day to abandon without a fight.
The first impression caused by this order
of the day weighed heavily on the heart of
every Russian ; next the fear of pursuit was
the dominant feeling with all. The sol-
diers, accustomed to fight in the places they
were abandoning, felt themselves without
defence the moment they left those behind.
Uneasy, they crowded together in masses
at the entrance of the bridge, which was
lifted by violent wind gusts. Through the
obstruction of regiments, of militiamen, of
wagons, some crowding the others, the in-
fantry, whose muskets clashed together, and
240 Sebastopol.
the officers carrying orders, made a passage
for themselves with difficulty. The inhabi-
tants and the military servants accompany-
ing the baggage begged and wept to be per-
mitted to cross, while the artillery, in a hurry
to go away, rolled along noisily, coming
down towards the bay. Although the at-
tention was distracted by a thousand details,
the feeling of self-preservation, and the de-
sire to fly as soon as possible from that fatal
spot, filled each ones soul. It was thus
with the mortally wounded soldier lying
among five hundred other unfortunates on
the flag -stones of the Paul quay, begging
God for death ; with the exhausted militia-
man, who by a last effort forces his way
into the compact crowd to leave a free pas-
sage for a superior officer ; with the general
who is commanding the passage with a firm
voice, and restraining the impatient sol-
diers ; with the straggling sailor or the bat-
talion on the march, almost stifled by the
moving crowd ; with the wounded officer
borne by four soldiers, who, stopped by the
crowd, lay down the stretcher near the
Nicholas barracks ; with the old artillery-
man, who, during sixteen years, has not left
All gust, i8^^. 241
the cannon which, with the assistance of his
comrades and at the command of his chief,
incomprehensible for him, he is about to
tumble over into the bay; and, at length,
with the sailors who have just scuttled their
ships, and are vigorously rowing away in
their boats.
Arrived at the end of the bridge, each
soldier, with very few exceptions, takes off
his cap and crosses himself. But besides
this feeling he has another, more poignant,
deeper — a feeling akin to repentance, to
shame, to hatred ; for it is with an inex-
pressible bitterness of heart that each of
them sighs, utters threats against the ene-
my, and, as he reaches the north side, throws
a last look upon abandoned Sebastopol.
FINIS.
16
BEN-HUll: A TALE OF THE CHRIST.
By Lew, Wallace. New Edition, pp. 552. 16mo,
Cloth, $1 50.
Anything so startling, new, and distinctive as the leading feature of this
romance does not often appear in works of fiction. . . . Some of Mr. Wal-
lace's writing is remarkable for its pathetic eloquence. The scenes de-
scribed in the New Testament are rewritten with the power and skill of
an accomplished master of style. — N'. Y. Times.
Its real basis is a description of the life of the Jews and Romans at the
beginning of the Christian era, and this is both forcible and brilliant. . . .
We are carried through a surprising variety of scenes ; we witness a sea-
fight, a chariot-race, the internal economy of a Roman galley, domestic in-
teriors at Antioch, at Jerusalem, and among the tribes of the desert; pal-
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"Ben-Hiir" is interesting, and its characterization is fine and strong.
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One of the most remarkable and delightful books. It is as real and
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THEIR PILGRIMAGE.
By Charles Dudley Warner. Richly Illustrated by C. S.
Reinhart. pp. viii., 364. 8vo, Half Leather, $2 00.
Aside from the delicious story — its wonderful portraitures of character
aud its dramatic developmeut — the book is precious to all who know any-
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without the aid of Mr. Reinhart's brilliant drawings, Mr. Warner conjures
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natured fun. — Christian Union, N. Y.
Mr. Reinhart's spirited and realistic illustrations are very attractive, and
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Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York.
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Griffith Gaunt.
Hard Cash.
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Put Yourself in His Place.
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Doctor Thorne ISmo, Cloth I 50
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Waverley ; Guy Mannering ; The Antiquary ; Rob Roy ; Old
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YATES'S (Edmund) Dr. Wainwright's Patient Svo, Paper 30
Kissing the Rod Svo, Paper 40
Land at Last Svo, Paper 40
Wrecked in Port Svo, Paper 35
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